At The Edge of The World
by Petty Officer First Class Boo
Summary: 1st Marine Special Operations Battalion Sergeant Joshua Flint leads his men into battle against a foe working alongside Solomon. Will he stop their plans or fail? Battlefield 3.
1. Chapter 1: A Trek in the Jungle

**Disclamer: I do not own the Battlefield 3 series, these characters are my own except for Staff Sergeant Blackburn.**  
><strong>Warning: This story has a tie-in with the <strong>**story of Battlefield 3 and will contain spoilers, if you have already played the game - enjoy.**

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><p><span>At The Edge Of The World<span>

December 24th, 2014

Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint, 1st MEUSOC Battalion

1335 Hours

It's not the end of the world, but you can damn well see it from here. I felt metal digging into my wrists as I was being led through a dark and dimly lit corridor. The two men in suits carried military issued and pristine M16A4 rifles guarding me. I don't know if they were going to use it to protect me or against me, but it damn sure didn't matter now. The way the suits acted made me hate them even more. All these Alphabet Agencies and their paranoid ideas about Russia, Taliban and PLR wanting to go to war with the United States was all bullshit. Solomon was one of many agents in the CIA overseas "assets" to go rouge. There were a handful more and even they can't understand the scope of the problem. Nuclear, biological, chemical and even digital threats were prevalent in these times. We stopped in front of a standard white door in what looked to be like an unfinished building with its inner guts spilled out. The air smelt of dank moisture, paint and steel. The sight of unpainted wood and floor littered with electrical wire didn't make me feel any better. A flash blinded my eyes as the door was swung open. Slowly, the fading white light throbbing in my pupils slowly faded away to reveal a plastic desk and chair set on top of a floor room with the window of what I assumed to be New York city. The suits pushed me down into of the the chairs and uncuffed me from the metal locked around my wrists. A single computer was set on top of a table filled with files and to my right even more boring black and gray folders. The shutting of my door brought my attention to a woman in her mid-twenties, with traces of Hispanic and Asian heritage. She was my type, the only problem was that she was wearing a black job skirt, a black suit and had cold, heartless eyes. Not to mention I've met her before also.

"Welcome Staff Sergeant Flint." She greeted sitting down on the chair opposite from me, the sun obscuring her body and face slightly.

"Miss me already Agent Oliver?" I asked leaning forward, her face unfazed.

"My men want to meet you personally in heaven." I growled as she opened her file.

"You know why you're here Sergeant. I want to know why you shot your commanding officer. I want to know why Colonel Yevtushenko has two biological canisters of VX nerve agents under his position and most of all why you decided to work for the Russians." She spoke with an articulate and clear voice.

"Considering you got two of my men killed in battle, why should I tell you anything? Better yet, I'd rather give anything away to the GRU rather than to any Alphabet Agency pets in suits." I replied, leaning back and crossing my arms.

"Damn it Josh, this isn't making anything easier!" Agent Oliver yelled, slamming her fist on the table and getting up.

"Tell me about your interactions with Lieutenant Colby Hawkins." I heard a muted voice come from the room next door.

"Who's being interrogated in there?" I asked as Oliver squeezed the bridge of her nose.

"Just go back to where it all started Josh, tell me about Operation: Rock River. Tell me about Vladimir Borodin. " She whispered sighing.

"Fine." I stated grabbing the file and looked at the photograph.

"It was the burning spring in the forest of Limpopo, the border between Zimbabwe and South Africa." I spoked slowly, the memories returning to me.

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><p>March 14th, 2014<p>

Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint, 1st MEUSOC Battalion

MC-130J Combat Shadow II, 35,000 Feet above Limpopo Reserve

0935 Hours

The oxygen hissed in my head as I breathed through the oxygen mask. Straps around my body dug into my skin, my limbs about to go numb. In addition to all the crap strapped to my body, a parachute was added to the mix and made my leg sag every time I walked. But it's something I loved to do. Its something all the SOC (Special Operation Capable) Marines love to do. I silently calmed myself down just like before any jump hoping nothing would go wrong. The clanking and clinking of metal drew my attention to the two idiot teammates. Chris Feldspar had the upper hand as he sparred with his comrade, the shorter five foot eight inch Adelenko Baljoge, a Croatian born United States Marine. The two traded blows with each other in full HALO (High Altitude Low Opening) gear, punching and kicking. Our Navy EOD/Medic liaison from the Seals, Jorge Keller looked at his family photograph in the dim red light as the hum of the MC-130's engine drowned out all sound. The jump master stood bored by the ramp and watched his subordinates buzz around four barrel like containers holding our gear. All we took down with us was a knife, a standard issue M1911 pistol and our balls to dare jump into enemy territory and opening the chutes at such low altitudes.

"Five minutes." Came the call from the pilot.

"Five minutes!" I yelled into the radio flashing five fingers at the men.

"Roger that." Jorge replied in all of his no nonsense voice.

"Atleast we're jumping out of airplanes and not doing some trash keeping like the 1st Recon are doing in Tehran." Chris Feldspar or Elf as we called him stated, finishing his small sparring session and walked over to us.

"Sucks to be them, huh? I heard the PLR are plenty in this year's hunting season. Too bad they're on a 'they shit, you wipe duty'." Adelenko Baljoge or Bal as we like to call him since we couldn't pronounce his last name.

"Lock it down, I want all of you gear checked and ready to jump in two." I ordered, the three nodding as Jorge shoved his photograph into one of his pockets.

"God damn Elf, you get any taller I'm going to need stilts to check your gear." I joked pulling lightly on his toggles making sure they don't accidentally pop out during the dive down to Earth.

"Well boss, at five foot nine, I need to bend over just to check you." Elf replied with a chuckle, I tapped his helmet telling him to turn around as I pulled on his parachute pack and tapped his helmet one more time.

"All good." I yelled, turning around to let Elf check my own pack.

"Good to go boss." Elf replied tapping my helmet.

"Bal, Jorge?" I asked leaning over and looking at the two men who gave me a thumbs-up.

"Sync the altimeter to thirty five thousand feet and clock to 0940 in five...four...three...two...one..." I ordered looking at my digital watch.

"Mark." I stated looking up at the men tapping their watches all at once.

"Three minutes!" The jumpmaster yelled as I nodded, telling him to lower the ramp.

The back end of the MC-130 split in half, the ramp lowering itself while the upper half folded into the aircraft. I squinted from the bright white flash blinding my eyes as it readjusted to the sun. A torrent of wind sucked the warmth out of the cargo bay and replaced it with a howling cold. I tapped my oxygen mask and gave a thumbs-up to a men, signaling them to turn on the oxygen if they haven't. At two minutes, I got on my belly on the ramp. The aerial photograph shown to me of the brief matched what I was seeing on the ground. I had done a lot of walking before and I just wanted to make sure that this time we got on the drop zone. Wrapping my gloved hand around the ramp, I held up five fingers and jabbed my thumb to the left telling the pilots to correct his course five degrees to the right. Sometimes I didn't even need to adjust at all, it was nice to have such great pilots. It was all too noisy to speak or even yell. From now on out it was either radio transmissions or hand signals. The aircraft shifted above the green jungle canopy flooded with trees and a large river not so far away cut right through the middle. I got up from the ramp and walked back to the first tube, grabbing the handles made from the recess of the tube.

"One minute." The jumpmaster reported, the radio crackling inside my ears.

"Thirty seconds." The jumpmaster stated as I slid the visor of my helmet down.

"Green light, see you on the ground." I said with a small two finger salute to my men, seeing the red light mounted just above the jumpmaster flash green.

I dragged the tube down the length of the aircraft, the weight of the combined gear making my leg sag as I jumped off. The tube tumbled down towards the Earth, my heart racing and my stomach lurching as my body caught the air. The first few times I jumped off the aircraft I thought, _please open, please open, please open._ Even as an expert that packs and prepares his own parachute, some of the more experience guys still had failures in their primary and had to go into their back-up chute. I never even sprained a muscle – even after 534 jumps. The altimeter read just over five thousand feet. With the guys just behind me, I waited for the continuous beep signaling the chute release altitude. A high pitch and fast beep blared in my ear. I reached to my left shoulder and pulled the red toggle, hearing a loud _bang. _The explosive charge sent the parachute flying out of the pack and into the air. Straps around my body tightened as the chute filled up with air and extended out to its full fifteen feet span.

"One, chute opened and descending down to the LZ." I grunted seeing my body plummet past the tube.

"This is two, right behind you boss." Bal replied, my legs tensing for the landing.

"Fuck..." I muttered the ground smacking into my body.

"Three, chute failure going into my secondary." Elf reported, his voice still calm and collected.

"Four, I have three, successful secondary chute deployment." Jorge stated as I nodded, relieved.

"Roger that." I stated tugging on my straps and shrugged off the parachute pack.

"Damn that hurts." Bal grunted landing next to me, his parachute luckily blowing behind behind him as I pulled out the thick helmet.

"You always bitch in parachute jumps you know that?" I replied pulling out a boonie hat from pocket.

"Better than hearing about PLR all the time at least." Bal stated shrugging off his pack.

"What's this about the PLR?" Elf asked donning his patrol cap.

"Nothing, I just heard that the Marines were hitting Tehran and Baghdad to search for some BS weapons like in 1991." I explained getting up and walked towards the dropped case filled with out weapons.

The jungle was covered by large and high canopies filled with insect and wildlife. Water and muddy ground was abundant throughout the region, not to mention a wet, dank and stinky smell coming from the swamps around us. I wadded through the branches, my boots sinking into the cool mud. The jungle opened to a wide open swamp. Our cases were half submerged in the water filled with flies and other nasty insects. I pulled out my pistol and twisted a silencer onto it, not wanting it to get wet and jammed. With the pistol held close to my chest, I stepped into the water. The water swallowed my boots and my legs. Each step was tiring as I fought to lift my boots from the mud. It seemed to suck my feet in and soon I found myself in waist deep water. Reaching the canister after a few minutes walking through sludge, I placed the pistol on top of a floating piece of dead wood and lifted open the canister. Inside was the new AEK-913 variant rifle of the famous AK-47 and my back-up UMP-45 sub machine gun. The upper side of the case housed my body armor stitched with the same digital camouflage pattern on my uniform. I pulled on the vest and pulled the straps until the sides of the armor were tight against my body. Grabbing the rifle and pocketing the magazines into individual pouches, I was ready to take the fight to the enemy.

"Why AEK-913s?" Bal asked slapping a magazine into his rifle and racking the bolt.

"Leaves a smaller footprint on the area since the Zimbabwe use AK-47 rifles, they'll just think its some inexperienced trooper discharging his weapon or fights between Private Military Companies having a skirmish against each other." I explained pulling out a magazine from one of my pouches and slapping it into the rifle, gunfire cracking in the distance.

"Explains the gunfire in the distance." Jorge grunted, walking towards us with Elf.

"Third world armies aren't really soldiers, just thugs with weapons." Elf scoffed as I took off my boonie hat and pulled on a one eared radio headset.

"Reaper One-One to Command, over." I spoke into the radio headset, slipping the large radio transmitter into a back pouch.

"Com-say...gain." The transmission came as I pulled my boonie hat back on.

"Reaper One-One to Command, do you read over." I replied, walking forward and away from the marsh.

"Bad-ngal, Reap-One..." The fractured radio message came.

"Screw it, radio's bad over here. We need to get to some open area without tree canopies covering us like this." I stated, my feet finally stepping on hard solid ground.

"Hey squid, you have contact with any Navy Seals members about Tehran yet?" Bal asked the Seal Team Two liaison from the Navy branch.

"Not yet, they're under ops 24/7. But, I've heard some rumors and inklings about the theater." Jorge stated as we stopped on dry land to prepare the rest of our uniform.

"Reapers, apply war paint and silence all weapons." I ordered, taking out a small green make-up kit.

"It seems like Faruk Al-Bashir came to power after an earthquake along a major fault line happened. The man supports the PLR and staged the coup d'etat, then became president. The shit hit the fan then and sent you guys in to bring the country back to order." Jorge explained as I smeared the black, green and brown paint on my face.

When painting the human skin you had to make sure you do the opposite. What's dark make it light like the recess of your eyes, covering it with green paint. What's light make it dark like the nose, forehead and chin covered with black. Hands, face, arms and neck were covered with paint. When someone looks at you, your face shouldn't resemble a face. Disappear and remain invisible. I tapped Bal, my number two and told him to check my war paint. He nodded as I looked down at my clothing. Rolled up digital camouflage uniform and knee pads for high intensity firefights, finishing it off with khaki colored jump boots. Bal wore the same uniform but traded his boonie hat in for a lightweight helmet with a small tactical light bolted onto the side of his. He had black eyes and hair with a rounded face. A short scar from a training accident a year ago shown in the paint as I nodded telling him it was all good.

"Command to Reaper One-One do you copy?" The transmission finally came through weakly, not crystal clear but enough to be understood.

"Reaper One-One to command, radio is good but weak over." I replied powering up the reflex sight of the AEK-913 and twisting on the silencer of the weapon.

"Roger that Reaper One, what is your status over." Command asked, the sound of turboprop engines buzzing overhead.

"We are five klicks from the compound and are enroute over." I reported switching over to my UMP-45 and checking the weapon.

"Copy that Reaper One, the P-3 Orion is leaving the airspace. Radio...-mission...out." Command replied, the radio transmission breaking up once again as the maritime surveillance aircraft relaying the signal returned to base to refuel.

"Alright, we have no radio contact with HQ and no support. We have no room for failure and if we are unable to catch this guy, millions will be at risk understood." I said with a stern voice look at the men who understood the gravity of the situation.

"Got it boss." Elf replied as I nodded.

"Lets move out, we got five kilometers of ground to cover." I ordered, standing up and walking deeper into the jungle.

The sounds of the wild filled in for our silence, the swishing of water as we stepped into a shallow river and the droplets of liquid from the canopies above. Jungle thickened the further we walked in and sunlight was barely able to penetrate the leaves above us. Spots of light were all that remained in the world of shadows. Thousands of wars happen everyday in the world but the media was unable to cover it. Only those who worked in the shadows fought the invisible wars against each nation's secret agencies, another reason to despise the alphabet agency. Even though we fought the same war, everyone in the Special Forces committee, American or otherwise, fought for a better future. I still remembered those days in boot camp when each one of us were ripped out from society to be trained into killing machines. Then reality hit me, high school kids had to change their ways of thinking to be turned into a killer. Its not that weren't going to be very efficient at the art but they were going to be more harmful to others than themselves. At the very least, the lack of discipline will make the whole unit a lot less inefficient at killing. We had to transform ourselves in a very psychological way and the drill sergeants erased the societal restraints on the savage part of us, making us able to survive and thrive in the environment where most would die. People were too use to everyday committees and when placed in a war zone will die almost certainly. The sound of a branch breaking with a snap made me look towards dry land to the right of us. Being in the shadows meant we could see him, but he couldn't see us. The man had a blonde beard and sport sunglasses on his face. A baseball cap on his head along with an American made AR-15 rifle. He was definitely paramilitary.

"Hey mate, you have a lighter?" An Australian voice came from his direction, another man emerging from the shrub behind him.

"Yeah, here." The man holding the AR-15 spoke with a Texan drawl, reaching into his pocket a producing a small sliver Zippo lighter.

"Thanks." The Australian replied taking the lighter and lighting his cigarette with a puff of smoke.

He handed the lighter back to the American and disappeared back into the shrub. I slowly looked towards my teammates, careful to not make a noise and pointed my index finger towards my left and right before waving my hand downwards at the surface of the water. The three gave a short and slow nod before sinking even deeper into the water. My nose just skimmed the water's surface as I crouched down to use the water to my advantage. The barrel of the Russian rifle floated just above the water, the waterproof sight littered with water droplets. Radio static constantly crackled in my ear as the voice activated radio microphone transmitted random bursts. The American seemed tired, his eyes heavy with dark bags under his eyes. This wasn't the best moment to be sleeping honestly.

"One report." I murmured in my throat, my voice inaudible in the jungle noise.

"Two, one tango." Bal reported as the American leaning forward slightly.

"Three, one tango, smoking a Marlboro by the looks of it." Elf stated, the American lost his step and was jolted awake.

"Four, one tango walking around a Cherokee Jeep. Looks like our ride into the base itself." Jorge reported, the American closing his eyes to take a short nap.

"Drop'em, silently." I ordered looking through the sight, the little red dot hovering just under his mouth.

My sniper training came back, my breathing slow and steady. I partially exhaled and held my breath. The red dot shifted ever so slightly as I aimed at the man five meters away. My finger squeezed the trigger. A small jolt into my shoulder and the heat of the gunpowder droplets being sprayed onto my face by the back blast of the silencer. The water splashed back at me as the bullet passed the speed of sound. _Clank, snap, crack_. The round hit him right in the center of the head as he fell down into the water, his legs immediately collapsing. He fell into the water with a splash, the bullet hole leaking out blood as his body floated on the small river. Three more cracks echoed in the air before quickly become silent once again. I stood up and walked towards the dead soldier and flipped him over. He was dead before he even knew it and now he was going to be asleep forever. I checked his armor pouches and pulled out a phone, a wallet and his Zippo lighter nothing more. In his wallet was a picture of his family, a credit card and a twenty dollar bill. I assumed he was divorced since the photograph looked aged and torn, his two kids the age of four to six smiling at the camera. Nobody will know he was gone until five or ten years later. I moved on and placed my foot on dry land, the water dripping off my uniform. There was a ruffling from the shrub. I raised my rifle and placed my finger on the trigger. A twitch would send hot lead into the shrub at a second's notice.

"Look at this." Elf stated walking out from the shrub.

"Marlboro Reds?" I asked as he flipped up the top of the box and pulled out a single stick.

"Want one?" Elf asked as I shook my head taking out the Zippo lighter and lit his cigarette.

"I don't smoke." I stated bluntly, the two of us walking into the shrub.

"Of course you don't, tell that to yourself two years ago." Elf said with a puff of smoke.

"I quit alright, the only thing I smoke is the gunpowder from the rifle." I replied seeing Bal and Jorge standing by a Cherokee on a small dirt road in the middle of a jungle

"Sweet ride." I whistled at the black 2014 Cherokee.

"3.7 Liter V6, ballistic glass, automatic transmission and all of the electronic options plus radio. I'd say someone is seriously considering staying in this shit hole of a country." Jorge stated looking at the Jeep before turning to me.

"Who's driving?" Jorge asked as I shook my head.

"I'm out, I did the driving in the last mission. An Iranian pick-up truck and the Insurgents PKM didn't go down with me so well." I stated plainly, Elf also shaking his head.

"I already drove the Humvee from FOB Keller into the province of Yazd, attracted a couple of AKs too." Elf replied as we all looked at Bal.

"What? Me, you serious?" The Croatian asked, the three of us nodding.

"You didn't drive since three months ago in Operation: Broken Shield. Your turn Bal." I stated seeing Jorge throw the key at him.

"Fine." Bal grunted walking over to the right side and opening the door.

"Get in." He stated, starting the engine.

"Won't we get ID'ed in this Jeep?" Elf asked getting in the backseat.

"No, tinted windows. No one's going to know we're here unless they open the door." Jorge replied from the back, the four of us closing the door and pulling out our close range weapons.

"Alright, let's do this." Bal stated putting the jeep into first gear.

The Jeep's tire squealed as it bit the tire trying to find traction. The V6 engine growled under the hood, Bal precariously trying hard to keep the Jeep on track on the slippery dirt road. We were jolted around the seat driving towards even deeper jungle. Triple canopies became thicker and the light no longer visible. The darkened jungle was close to pitch black as Bal turned on the headlights, the radio and GPS providing the only light source in the Jeep. If felt like a horror movie, dark, brooding and dank. Invisible branches whacked at the metal and glass. The sound of water dripping on the windshield and the sloshing of mud filled our ears. Cool, earthy air blew at us from the A/C vents and the taste of sand in my throat filled me with little dread. Little butterflies fluttered in my stomach as shadows darted from tree to tree. Just my eyes playing tricks. A lesson by the drill instructor. When night falls and shapes becomes shadow, you mind starts to distort the shapes into something from your darkest fears. The jeep crashed into a dip in the road, muddy water splattered onto the windshield.

"Alpha One Six report." The radio crackled, making my heart stop slightly.

"Fucking hell, that scared the shit out of me." Bal breathed.

"Alpha One Six, sector alpha six through ten secure." The radio continued to crackle.

"Bravo One One, report." The other voice ordered, the jeep stopping at a cross road.

"Bravo One One, report." The other voice ordered in a more stern voice.

"Shit that's us." Elf muttered as I picked up the little radio transmitter.

"Bravo One One, all sectors clear." I stated, trying to speak in my best Texan drawl and ended sounding like some idiotic redneck.

"You okay Eric?" The British man replied with suspicion in his voice.

"Yeah, its just that I didn't get much sleep and my voice is a bit screwy." I quickly answered as Bal took a left turn following the GPS.

"Don't stay up so late looking at your kid's Facebook and get some sleep." The British stated before moving on to the next patrol.

"Well that was close." Elf said with a sigh of relief.

"Didn't think your crappy voice acting was going to get us past the radio." Bal chuckled as I glared at him.

"Sorry boss." He murmured looking back towards the road.

"We should be getting close to the base itself." Jorge stated just as lights appeared in the darkness, the base itself marked by both invisible IR lights and the paramilitary signal lights.

Bal stopped the car, the lights flashed at us. Morse code. It flashed a series of code words that we didn't know. I looked to Bal and Jorge who nodded to me. Bal extinguished the lights while Jorge, Elf and I rolled down the window placing our rifle's on the door. I caught a glint of glass from the two guards. They were wearing Night Vision goggles probably the newer models but no matter, they were still very sensitive to light. Chaos ensued as Bal turned on the high-powered light making the guards shield their eyes from the headlamps. The little red dot hung just above the guard's goggles, my finger squeezing the trigger and my breathing paused. In one smooth motion, I fired my weapon. A jolt in my shoulder and the heat of the back blast sent a bright ray of light towards the guard. His head jerked back. The guard's head smacked against the stick of a large hut before slumping against the ground, his right arm holding his weapon bent at a strange angle. I opened the door to the Jeep and stepped out, walking towards the dead guard. He never had a chance as two bullet holes were drilled into his head and chest. I turned him over and pulled off his night vision goggles to see blue eyes and blonde hair cut short still with military regulations. His badge stitched into his black unarmored vest only used to carry ammunition with a red beret, red star behind a fist clenching an AK-47SU told me he was from the Spetznaz. What could possibly buy almost every single operative out from their respective units? Money.

"Hey Staff Sergeant." Jorge said as I looked towards him.

"Biometric scanners near this guy, with luck he's still alive. I shot him in the lung." Jorge reported, kicking the man's weapon away from him.

"Alright then, here's the deal." I started using short range and encrypted communication channels to talk with the team.

"We use silenced weapons for the first few minutes until the alarms are trigger, we know they're going to be trigger sooner or later. Then we switch to our CQB weapons and hunt this guy down. We need him alive, the suits want him in custody understood?" I asked the three as they nodded.

"Why don't we just kill him and get it over with?" Bal asked, turning off the headlights and walked to join the three of us.

"The man has sold nuclear, biological and chemical weapons to a lot of defected operatives across the world. We don't know who and we don't know why but we need him alive to confirm them." I replied checking my UMP-45 one more time and placed the rifle off safe.

"Roger that boss." Bal breathed taking out his M1014 Combat Shotgun and pumped a round into the breech.

"We hit on three." I ordered seeing Jorge place the man's hand on the scanner and shot him as the door opened.

"Two...One..." I whispered into the headset,hugging the butt stock of the rifle with my right cheek.

"Mark!" I yelled crouching down and slid into the garage filled with powerful white light.

"What the fuck!" A British contractor yelled in the middle of the room as I pumped two quick rounds into his chest.

He slumped onto the floor, blood pooling out from underneath him. I swept my rifle right to cover Elf as I saw another man about to hit the panic button. Two jolts into my shoulder sent the man down onto the floor groaning in pain. There was a glass security box with a man inside, his hands quickly and calming going towards the phone. A small storage corridor leading to another exit burst open with two men armed with shotguns. Elf and I walked towards them together, keeping distance between Elf to ensure that we both weren't taken out at the same time. Double taps brought one down as Elf took out the other, the contractor crumpling into the wall next to him. Blood was left on the wall as he fell down onto the floor, his hand clutching his rifle. The entire room was cleared in less than thirty seconds. I looked back to Jorge and Bal who stood in front of the security box with at least four men laying dead on the ground, blood littered on the stone floor. I walked towards them seeing a man with a smug face on the other side.

"You think you can shoot into this room with your petty Warsaw pact rifles?" The man spoke in a very articulate manner, just like a business man.

"You're the explosive expert." I looked to Jorge who produced what looked like play-doh and a black stick the size of our forearm.

"What are you doing?" The man asked as Jorge stuck a wire into the clay-doh like Semtex and C4 block, flicking a switch on the detonator held in his hand.

"Stop!" He yelled, Jorge placing the molded clay onto the screen and quickly stepped to the side.

"No!" The man let out a blood curling scream.

I quickly ducked behind the corridor, an electrical whiz was heard for a split second before an ear splitting explosion shook the room like an earthquake. I closed my eyes feeling and smelling dust just completely engulf the air. I opened my eyes to see dust everywhere. It was like an opaque white haze, my hand held out to feel my surroundings. Coughing and my ears still ringing from the blast I looked at the man on the floor still bleeding blood next to the still intact biometric scanner. I grabbed his hand and placed it on the scanner before shooting him twice in the chest. It made sure he wouldn't come back and bite us in the ass later on in the mission. There were two silhouettes in the distance, light slowly sweeping from bottom to top.

"Staff Sergeant!" A voice yelled from the mist coughing, the sound of footsteps approaching me.

"Sound off!" I ordered, the ringing in my ears subsiding.

"Bal, okay!" One scream reported from the haze.

"Jorge, good to go!" Another replied my call.

"Elf, all good!" A voice from behind me yelled as I nodded.

A round snapped next to my head. My instincts driving me into the wall right next to the downed man. Red tracers crisscrossing the mist and impacted into the garage door with a bang.

"Fuck!" Someone yelled as the haze started to clear.

"Get those bastards now!" A gruff voice barked orders, men quickly sprinting into the room.

"Elf, take the left door side! Jorge, Bal through the garage door!" I ordered pulling out my sub machine gun.

"Got it boss!" Bal replied, the sound of a shotgun thumping behind me.

Elf backed up against the wall right next to the door waiting for me. I slammed into cover, nodding to him and exited the door first. A blur of color flashed before my eyes. On the other side of the door was an armed soldier, his Russian built Saiga shotgun pointed at the floor. I rushed at him. My forearms smashing into his face. A quick kick at his stomach threw him onto the ground as I felt heat pricking at my neck. The sound of a gun burst exploded beside me. I fired three bullets into the man's general direction and look up towards the threat. It was a massive garage filled with four wheel drive jeeps and trucks. Now it was littered with panicking troops answering the alarm call. Elf rushed in front of me running up the steps into the hidden compound firing his M4 Carbine at the enemy. Bal and Jorge appeared in front of us, firing their weapons at the enemy. I winced hearing a snap and the blazing sting of pain at the back of my neck. My back slammed into a white jeep as I locked eyes with the men firing at me. With a flick of the fire selector, I popped from just above the hood and fired slow, methodical single shots at the enemy. One squeeze of the trigger. A tap on the shoulder. The man in front of me behind a car crumpled onto the ground clutching his abdomen screaming in pain. I switched targets and fired two more bullets into his friend trying to help him. A red mist exploded form his head and the wall behind him was splattered with red graffiti. The noise of a bullet punching through the hood of my car made me duck behind cover, scrambling towards Elf who was giving me suppressive fire from the trunk.

"Staff Sergeant, we got two sniper's on the top of the parking garage!" Jorge yelled as I nodded taking out my rifle.

"Give suppressive fire on my mark!" I screamed back, ripping out the empty magazine and slapping in a new fresh one.

"Roger that, Staff Sergeant!" Jorge replied reloading his SCAR-L back-up rifle.

I glanced up from behind the car, trying to look through the window. A glint from the shattered tinted windows of the parking garage roof caught my attention. I ducked down just in time to miss a bullet from the sniper as it shattered the car window.

"Suppressive fire!" I ordered taking a step back from the car and shouldering the rifle.

"Suppressive fire!" Jorge repeated as I fired off a quick double tap into the sniper above me.

The sniper slumped right by his weapon, the bullet entering through his forehead.

"We're clear move up!" Elf reported, reloading his weapon.

Firefights were never a dull moment. I moved up and reloaded my weapons while keeping an eye on the double doors at the end of the parking garage. The glass doors slid open, my right arm instantly going to my left shoulder strap. I drew my combat knife and jumped at the unsuspecting attacker. My left shoulder slamming him into the ground. He fought fiercely hitting me with his fists. The left side of my face went numb as I bought the blade back and jabbed it deep into his abdomen. He grunted with pain. I drew my blade back, just to plunge in back into his stomach. Over and over again I stabbed him until his green eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling above him. I stopped, panting with a mix of excitement, pleasure and fear. I was excited from the adrenaline rushing through my body, felt pleasure from the savage side of me as I maimed a killed just to feel alive and felt fear that the enemy would kill me. Such was the world of combat.

"You alright boss?" Bal asked as I stood up wiping the blade on the camouflage uniform.

"Yeah, yeah..." I whispered feeling the urge to puke after seeing the man's entrails and blood spilled all over the granite floor.

"We should get moving, Borodin's just up ahead." Jorge suggested as I nodded.

I sheathed the blade still red with blood and grabbed my weapon from the floor. I took one last look at the dead man, kneeling down to close his eyes with my bloodied hands. A hand patted my shoulder. Standing up, I looked at the three men under my command and nodded to them. We walked forward and down a the straight corridor. I heard something, a slight buzzing in my ears. Bright white light shined from the glass window surrounding me. The jungle was cleared just a few meters from the glass house, humming shook the house slightly as no one was found in the room. It was a huge two story house connected to a guards quarters on one side and a mess hall on the other. Furniture and a large television set sat down stairs in the living room with a short set of stairs leading up into what looked like the lounge. A beautiful view of a river along with eight sofas set in a semi-circle. The buzzing got louder as me and my men ascended the stairs. Another set of stairs leading up. This time it lead to a large King sized bed with a small fire place, lit and burning documents. Two men looked over to us as Jorge and Elf dropped them.

"Jorge, Elf see what's in those documents. Bal, you're with me!" I ordered as the three nodded.

One final set of stairs, I gripped the sub machine gun and stepped onto the rooftop. The sun hung high over the amazon like jungle and four men with their backs turned towards us stood talking to a man inside Kamov Ka-60 transport helicopter. I raised my rifle and let loose all of my ammunition into the four men just as Bal did. The man turned towards us wincing as the bullets peppered the aircraft's skin making it spark. His men were dead and he knew he was soon to be. Bullets cracked past my ear from behind me as I turned around to see the men that were out on patrol, coming back to answer the alert.

"Go after him boss, I'll take care of them!" Bal yelled, picking up a sniper rifle from the dead marksman I killed.

"Cover me!" I screamed before turning around to run after the helicopter.

My hands pulled my weapons off of my body in an attempt to lighten the weight my legs need to be carrying, except for the M1911 pistol I always kept close at hand. Pain and discomfort erupted from my legs. Oxygen being burned up from the sprint. The helicopter was lifting off, shit! I grunted and forced my legs to run further and faster. The wheels of the helicopter lifted off from the ground, the gust from the blades obscuring my view. I ran up the steps and locked my eyes on the black frame of the helicopter. I jumped from the edge of the building and dived after the accelerating helicopter. My heart pounded in my ears and my breathing slow. It felt like it lasted forever. I closed my eyes bracing for the worst. My back exploded in pain and fire filled my nerves. My eyes snapped open. I was in the helicopter and the bastard didn't even notice. My hand drew the pistol and fired into the instrument panel of the ascending helicopter. Borodin looked back seeing me destroy his aircraft.

"Americanski!" The arms dealer yelled in rage, walking towards me.

I felt his fist smash into my face, numbing it. My head slammed into the passenger door. I blacked out just for a moment just enough for him to slug my stomach. Already on my back, he stepped over me and pulled me up to his eyes. At six foot and two inches tall, he was big. Borodin screamed and threw me into the back of the aircraft. The helicopter started to spin. He lost his balance flying into the cockpit. I drew my knife and wiped the blood from my bruised cheek. The both of us swayed towards each other, the sky a blur of white and blue along with the green of the jungle. He lunged at me. I ducked narrowly missing the giant man and threw a fist into his stomach. He doubled over. Just as I grabbed him, a jolt threw the both of us into the cockpit. I smelled water, my vision black. I panted shaking my head to clear the mist of darkness. Brown water seeped into the aircraft from the open passenger bay and Borodin was out cold. The helicopter tilted up like the Titanic carrying us with it into the deep. I looked up at the sky and smashed my fist and knife into the thick cockpit glass.

"Fuck!" I yelled fighting for my life.

"Come on." I grunted, smashing my fist into the glass.

I gagged, coughing as water rose up to my neck. My knuckles stung, the cracking of glass bringing me hope. Brown filled my eyes. Water rising up above my head and consuming the helicopter. One last try. I brought my fist back and smashed through the glass feeling the sharp edges cutting my skin open. My hands groped the vest to find molded clay. I placed the clay on the glass and stuck the accompanying wire into the dough. My lungs burned and my head felt light. I found a switch, and blindly stuck it inside one of the holes. I squeezed the detonator. Something blew me out and then sucked me back in. My left arm gripping to the Russian burst into fire as I desperately swam for air. My body burned and my mouth opened to breathe in air just to find water. I felt cool air brush against the tips of my finger. I could feel it, the breeze. One more stroke. Freezing wind blasted against my face as I sucked in a lungful of air coughing. Then, I was pulled back down. Fucking bastard, that Russian. I felt his boot smash into my face, the man surfacing for air. I swam after him. Grabbing his leg and sticking the knife deep into his bone. I heard a muffled scream. I broke the water surface and saw the Russian's face twisted in pain. I smashed my head against his, knocking the man back and pulled out the knife.

"Swim towards the surface!" I ordered, coughing and still panting for air.

"Why should I you capitalist dog?" Borodin yelled as I stabbed him again in his leg.

"Agh! You fucking pig!" He yelled, getting the hint and slowly swam towards the compound.

"Sergeant!" Jorge screamed from the shore, with the rest of the team.

"What is it?" I asked grabbing Bal's hand and lifting myself from the water.

"Bal spotted a Russian An-124 dropping Russian Special Forces into the area." Jorge reported, offering me a canteen as Elf shoved the wounded Russian over towards his house.

"Russian SpecOps? You sure?" I asked grabbing the canteen and chugged the water down my dry throat.

"I'm pretty sure, that blue strip with the Russian flag on it is no mistake." Jorge stated as I walked towards Borodin.

"How far were they from drop zone?" I asked pulling off the boonie and stopping just in front of Borodin.

"I'd say three or four kilometers, HALO drops. They're possible less than five hundred meters away from us." Jorge estimated as I nodded.

"So Americanski, what do you want to know?" Borodin asked with a smile that infuriated me, he thinks he's got all the chips.

"Who the fuck did you sell the VX agents to?" I yelled grabbing the man by his collar and pushed him up against the wall.

"Look at you. I'm so scared." Borodin coughed, smiling at me.

"Boss we don't need him. I've got the documents they failed to burn. Over fifty buyers of VX, nuclear and biological components." Elf stated as I looked at the Russian and slugged him in the stomach.

"Cuff him and give me your back-up." I ordered Jorge who gave me his SCAR-L.

"Not so fast, American." A Slavic voice said from behind me.

The four of us turned around with our weapons up, ready to fire. The men of three aimed their weapons at us. They were clothed in thick parachuting Russian camouflage gear and their faces wary with battle scars just like ours. The one who stood ahead of the others walked slowly towards me before quickly turning and firing a shot. I looked to the right seeing Borodin crashing into one of the glass windows, shattering it with a bullet hole in his chest.

"Fuck..." Bal cursed as we stood at a stalemate.

"American, put your weapons down. We are not here to hurt you." The Russian Special Force soldier stated as I looked to the men who were determined to kill our counterparts.

"Boss just double tap this guy we're four to three." Bal stated, the Russian still pointing his weapons at us.

"We know who Borodin sold the weapons to and why, the Russian Intelligence knows just as much as you do." The Russian soldier explained as I slowly lowered my weapon, ready to snap it back up and shoot them if lied.

"Sergeant?" Jorge asked seeing my slowly lower my weapon.

"Lower them." I ordered, Bal not settling with the idea of a truce between the two SpecOps branches.

"Boss, just doubl-" Bal started as I cut him of.

"Bal just lower the fucking weapon!" I yelled, my team lower their rifles but not without growling at the enemy.

"Опустите оружие." The Special Ops leader ordered as his men lowered their rifles.

"Alright what do you have to say." I stated, the leader walking towards me.

"You seriously going through with this?" Bal yelled disapprovingly.

"Shut the fuck up Bal, if the Russians have information. We can use it and work with them to save billions of lives, now simmer the fuck down!" I growled back at the Croatian, pushing him back from the Russians.

"Do you know who Colonel Yevtushenko is?" The Russian asked as I shook my head.

"No idea." I replied.

"He used to be in charge of the Russian GRU units." He explained, quirking my interest.

"Your intelligence agency and now he's rouge?" I asked connecting the dots together.

"Yes. But, now here's the complicated part. He is planning to attack the United States out of revenge. Ever since Bosnia his daughter was killed in an American bombing raid, he's vowed revenge for it ever since."

"So how is he going to carry out this 'attack'?" I asked.

"Your intelligence agency has agents out in the field, no?" I nodded.

"About twenty percent has defected to the Russian's side, most were originally recruited from Russia. Solomon, Caesar, Alexander, Hannibal to name a few. They all possess nuclear and biological weapons from dealers all over the globe or are in the process of acquiring one. The Canadian Joint Task Force 2, British Special Reconnaissance Service and our own Vympel and Alpha group are chasing down the defects. If you help us, the world will be better off tomorrow rather than in a war between two superpowers caused by one madman." The Russian soldier finished as I nodded.

"And who will I be hunting?" I asked, the soldier taking out a piece of waterproof and laminated paper.

"Vicktor Kuibyshev, Hannibal. He used to be a former Spetsnaz soldier before defecting to the United States after his family and sister was killed by Russian Internal agents. He is going to be in London to meet with the weapons dealer. Meet him there and retrieve the package at all costs." The Russian soldier concluded brushing past us and towards the house.

"And who are you exactly?" I asked turning around.

"Vadim Sidorov, Vympel group, Russian Spetsnaz." He replied before firing a bullet into Borodin's body and disappearing into the house.

"Shit so we really are working with the Russians." Elf stated as I nodded looking at the photograph.

"Fuck these pigs." Bal growled spitting on the ground.

"What is up with you and these Russians?" Jorge asked, pulling out his radio to call us a ride out of here.

"They ransacked my country in World War Two, created my greatest enemies and left just like that. They screwed us up that's what it is." Bal explained, Jorge calling in an extraction helicopter.

The man in the photograph had blue eyes and a stubble beard. His jaw was set and a scar extended from the corner of his mouth to his eyebrow. He had this sort of sneer that was unforgettable in the photograph and short blonde crew cut hair. It was taken in 2001 so it was a while since they last seen the guy. Whoever this guy was, he was going to be killing millions with a single bomb just to do some madman's bidding. We also knew our next target: London.


	2. Chapter 2: London Undercover

At The Edge of The World

December 24th, 2014

Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint, 1st MEUSOC Battalion

1305 Hours

Agent Oliver stood near the window listening to my story. I finished placing my hands on the table, clicking my finger against the metal. A jetliner took to the skies behind the buildings and trains crossed the city by monorails. The blue skies were clear of clouds and the jet contrails like small threads of cotton against the blue fabric. The sounds of traffic and blaring sirens of the police cars muted through the glass. Agent Oliver turned around and walked over to the chair. She sat down, rubbing her forehead. The room still smelled like paint and unfinished construction with the smell of strong coffee coming from a single cup on the table. Agent Oliver pushed another file towards me. I looked at her with and slowly opened the file.

"Operation: Carthage, after a month of stalking and surveillance with intelligence from both the Russians and British intelligence agencies, you finally found him." Agent Oliver picked up her small paper cup and sipped the caffeine drink.

"Hannibal." I growled looking at the photo of him looking back at the London Eye in the middle of a busy English street.

"Tell us what happened Josh, why did he get away?" Agent Oliver leaned forward focusing her attention on me.

"You were there, you know what the story was." I sank into the metal chair, crossing my arms and looking at her.

"They want to hear it from your mouth Josh." Agent Oliver tapped on the table impatiently.

"Sure, why don't you bring Jorge in huh? He'd love to tell you all about the wound that they gave him." I growled back watching her reaction.

"Josh, stop being so stubborn just tell me the story. I want to know as much as you do why he escaped." Agent Oliver said through gritting teeth.

"Then you tell your side of the story and I'll tell mine." I leaned forward, placing my hands on the table.

"London, April 21st, 2014..." Agent Oliver started, sipping coffee from her cup.

* * *

><p>April 21st, 2014<p>

Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint, 1st MEUSOC Battalion

Room 403, Saint James Hotel

London, England

0635 Hours

I felt eternal bliss consumed by darkness and wrapped in warmth. Something pushed me out of the mist of sleep, an annoying chirping. A morning call. I grumbled and rolled over. My body ached from the past month. Operation: Rock River took a lot out of me and man did it hurt. The 1st Reconnaissance Battalion fighting in Iraq pulled out at the end of the day. An earthquake shook the city, destabilizing the Marines and the PLR. With no communication and no way of organizing, the Marines were killed one by one. The few that got lucky were on their way to the next battlefield. Misfit, Hitman and Assassin, the three main companies of the Recon Battalion got out alive and Sergeant Blackburn's squad was given a top-priority mission given by the Special Operations Command themselves. The ringing of the phone made me pick up the annoying machine.

"Mr. Flint your six o'clock wake-up call. You haven't picked up so we kept calling you." The British voice explained as I grumbled, pushing myself off the bed.

"Thank you." I replied, slamming the phone back down.

My muscles screamed with soreness. My arms, back and legs burning as I stumbled into the bathroom. The hygienic ritual began. Brushing my teeth, washing my face and shaving the growing stubble became everyday life on and off base. I kicked my boxers off and threw it in the clothes bin. Hot water steamed over my body fogging up the glass door of the shower. It felt good, really good after a month of doctor appointments and stitches. The still fresh wound on my cheekbone, neck and forehead still stung. With another Russians arm dealer dead, that would be one less guy to take out. I twisted the shower knob close and looked at the steamed up mirror. I wiped out the condensation of the mirror to take a look at myself. Green eyes stared back at me. A strong set jaw with a small gash on the upper lip. One small stitched wound still fresh with white dry medical glue hid the reddened cut on my right cheek. Another gash sat on the upper left of my forehead, the crew-cut hair hiding a part of the cut from the impact against the helicopter's passenger door. I turned around and looked at my back. One healed scar across the middle of my neck from a bullet graze sat in the open along with other long scars across my back from my childhood. Sighing, I walked out into the bedroom and pulled out my usual attire. Cargo pants, a blue tee and sneakers. I picked up my phone and a small radio transmitter connected to a hidden wireless radio in my back pocket. The little thing was disguised as a bluetooth headset and no one would suspect it. Sitting next to my camouflaged backpack filled with military equipment was my combat knife and pistol. I grabbed the USP 45 Tactical pistol and checked the weapon. Eight bullets and two magazines. I loaded the small pistol and racked the slide, slipping it into the back of my pants. The seven inch KA-BAR combat knife was stowed into my left pocket before I left the room.

"Reaper One, I am active." I spoke into the bluetooth headset, pressing the elevator call button.

"Roger that Reaper One, three is on over watch." Elf replied as a woman walked over to me.

"Morning." I greeted with a smile.

"Good morning." She replied standing with her hands dug into the pockets of her jeans.

"Excuse me but do you know a Starbucks near the London Eye?" The woman looked up at me nodding.

"Yes, its actually not quite far from it. There is one opposite of the Eye on the boardwalk." The woman said with what sounded like a French accent.

"Reaper One, incoming briefing." Jorge spoke into my ear.

"Would you give me a moment, I have to take this call." I said as she nodded.

"Alright Jorge, what's up?" I asked walking into the elevator.

"Major General Lefebvre want us to meet up with a suit in the Starbucks you're walking to. The spook's suppose to help you find Hannibal." Jorge explained, the elevator door opening to let in a couple staying at the hotel.

"What time is the business meeting?" I asked trying to remain unsuspicious.

"Ah, thirty minutes from now." Jorge replied quickly as I nodded.

"Alright Jorge, thanks." I stated before tapping the headset like I was turning off the device but I really wasn't.

"You're a business man?" The woman asked as I nodded.

"Yeah, is that hard to believe?" I replied with a casual smile, I hate talking to people who were overly curious.

"I don't know. You're built like a tank and look like a military man on vacation." She observed walking out the now open elevator doors.

"I use to be in the Marines, now I work for a wingsuit company. We sell gliding equipment and the sort." It was our cover if anyone asks anymore questions.

"Okay then, I have to go. See you around?" She said with a small smile, standing in the hotel lobby.

"Sure." I replied with a short answer.

"Reaper Two, I'm active." Bal reported on the radio with a yawn.

"Have a good night's sleep Bal?" I asked walking out from the hotel and into the chilly April morning of England.

"Yeah, especially with that chick I picked up at the bar." Bal replied with a small chuckle.

"You're such a player Bal." Elf joked, sipping some beverage.

The weather in April made the hairs on my skin stand up. Being raised in Maryland, I was use to sixty five degree Fahrenheit weather. Usually it was warm enough to wear a tank top if you dared. I pulled out a phone and used the GPS function to find the London Eye. It was a few blocks from the hotel, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. On the way towards my destination, electronic shops with television sets played the BBC news channel. I couldn't help by stop to listen to some. The anchorwoman was reporting on the war in Iraq. My mood turned into frustration. Why wasn't I in the thick of it with my Marine brothers? Videos and images of the Marines rushing into battle just to get cut down by PLR militia men just angered me even more.

"Today the United States Marines are assaulting the capital city, Arbil to flush out the lieutenants of President Farukh Al-Bashir. President Al-Bashir staged a coup on the weakened Iraqi government and vowed to take revenge on America for destroying his country after Operation: Desert Storm and Iraqi Freedom." The anchorwoman said as the video continued in the background, Marine forces firing at roads and buildings filled with insurgents before cutting to President Al-Bashir himself.

"You come to our country to murder us, yet you call us terrorists?" President Al-Bashir spoke in his office decorated by flags and expensive furniture, wearing his military uniform.

I couldn't watch the news anymore. The sight of Marines getting massacred, it was just too much. PLR might be untrained and completely inexperienced but they were well armed and they had numbers on their side. Improvised Explosive Devices had no role in the world of all out warfare and this was one of the bloodiest wars since Operation: Iraqi Freedom. United States forces were due to pull out of the middle east by 2012. It's 2014 and we're still there. I looked up after a long walk to the river Thames to see the giant London Eye. To the right of it was a series of vendor shops and a Starbucks. Inside, it felt like a relaxed workplace with college kids on their laptops, talking to their friends and business men and women talking about...well – business.

"How can I help you?" A female cashier asked standing behind the counter.

"Can I have a tall white hot chocolate, whole milk with whipped cream please?" I replied, digging into my pocket and pulling out my wallet.

"That'll be two pounds and fifty pence." The cashier stated as I gave her three coins and waited at the counter.

"Not a fan of coffee?" She asked walking to the back where all the magic happens.

"Yeah, it dulls my senses after you get addicted to it." I said with a small smile.

"Sounds like what my father would say." The girl replied waiting for the hot chocolate to finish.

"Your father?" I asked trying to strike up a conversation.

"He's an old fart in the British Military, 44th East Essex Regiment of Foot or something." She murmured trying to remember the name.

"44th Regiment of Foot, part of the 5th Infantry Division based in Shrewsbury. That's a long way from home isn't it?" I asked as she went to grab my drink.

"I'm attending college and trying to find extra money to buy some art equipment." She explained giving me the paper cup.

"It's been nice talking to you." I replied walking to a nearby window and sat down to observe the area, looking for Hannibal.

"Jorge you active?" I asked into the headset grabbing The Telegraph.

"Yeah, I'm at the mall opposite of the river Thames and the London Eye. Perfect view of the area." He replied from the mall which I judged to be directly opposite from me.

"Why didn't you report in earlier?" I asked looking at my watch, 0655 Hours.

"You know, family stuff." Jorge grunted back.

"Tell me about it, I've got oh I don't know fifteen minutes?" I said with a chuckle pretending to read the business section of the newspaper while scanning the boardwalk.

"Alright then, you know David right? He has a soccer match today and I wasn't able to make it today so I just told him to go play, wishing him the very best. I mean come on, he's just ten and I'm sitting here trying to find some madman trying to destroy the United States." Jorge said, ranting as I flipped through the pages amused at the father of two.

"It's for the greater good Jorge so your kid can grow up in a safer world." I replied taking a glance out the window.

"I know but Haley has a concert performance today with her fourth grade class and I'm missing out. I just wish that some days I can be in two places at once." Jorge said with a sigh.

"We are men of sacrifice Jorge and men of violence so people can sleep peacefully in their beds at night." I took a sip of the hot chocolate.

"Sergeant Flint?" A female voice asked as I looked up at her.

"Yeah and who are you?" I replied to the stranger.

"I'm to spook you're suppose to meet. I'm Agent Michelle Oliver." She explained taking a seat on the wooden chair in front of me.

"How do I know you're with the Agency?" I asked, the woman taking out a small file.

"Isn't this the briefing you got in Hereford? Authentication code words: Punic Wars." She replied passing all the test but my suspicions were still here.

"Great I'm babysitting someone from the CIA aren't I?" I asked looking out the window to find a man in a charcoal suit talking to two of his associates.

"Look I know how to take care of myself." Agent Oliver growled back, the man looked familiar with his blonde combed over hair and growing beard.

"Here's a picture of Hannibal, he's dealing with a PLR agent to take the bomb into Iraqi Kurdistan." She explained as I grabbed the photograph and file.

Blonde combed over hair and a stubble. He was wearing sunglasses and held a suit case walking off a Gulfstream jet. Shit, that was him just now. I looked up seeing Hannibal walking with his two Arabian buddies into a crowd of people on the boardwalk. This was not good. I grabbed the hot chocolate and chugged the drink down before rushing outside the store. He was gone.

"Elf, Jorge I need you to fix eyes on the boardwalk where the London Eye is Hannibal has been spotted. Blonde combed over hair, growing beard and wearing a charcoal suit. He's walking with two Arabian men in a white and black suit respectively carrying a suit case." I quickly spoke into the radio, trying to find him in the sea of people.

"I'm on it Sergeant." Jorge replied as Agent Oliver ran outside in her high heeled court shoes.

"Bal where are you?" I yelled running into the crowd.

"Five minutes from your location. I'm going to try to cut him off." Bal reported as I pushed against the flow of the crowd.

"Excuse me." I grunted, trying to avoid a couple walking together.

"This isn't going to work!" Agent Oliver stated as I nodded.

"This isn't." I said pulling out my pistol and racking the slide, loading a round.

"But this is." I finished pointing the pistol into the air.

"United States Special Forces, everyone get the fuck out!" I yelled with anger, unable to find Hannibal.

I fired a bullet into the air and placed the pistol on safe, running into the crowd of panicking civilians who made a hole for the American with a gun. I found him. The Russian turned around and gave me a small smirk before a civilian passed in front of him. He was gone again. How he did that, I did not know.

"Elf I've lost him." I radioed my sniper, taking a slower and more cautious approach to the Russian.

"I'm on it boss. We've got some police chatter on the COMs, patching it to you now." Elf replied, police chatter now buzzing in my ear.

"We've got shots fired near the London Eye on the boardwalk. Dispatch patrol units immediately." The radio crackled as I found Jorge running down the boardwalk.

"Did you find him?" Jorge asked panting.

"I just lost him, Elf's on overwatch." I replied seeing Hannibal turn left in an alleyway.

"Fuck, over there!" I yelled as Bal ran after him.

"United States Special Forces, get down on the ground!" Bal yelled, Jorge and I running behind him down a narrow London street filled with cars.

"Elf, re-adjust. We are behind the boardwalk on the street parallel to it. Bal is just behind Hannibal." I reported, Bal drawing his M1911 pistol and readying it to fire.

"Roger that, I've got him." Elf replied with a small exhaled breath.

"Permission to take down one of the Arabs." Elf stated as the three of us chased the defector down the street.

"Send it." I ordered seeing police cars block the way a few meters in front of us.

I ran after the three men with Bal taking the lead. Bal was a natural born sprinting, getting better physical fitness scores than all of us. Jorge on the other hand was built for long endurance since he was in the SEALs. I was a bit of both. One of the Arabs looked back. He had a shaved face and short hair along with a white suit and suitcase. Sweat rolled down his face and stained his black shirt. An inaudible bang only heard by soldiers that worked hundreds of hours in the field echoed throughout the city. The Arab's side exploded with a mist of red, blood flying from his stained suit. He crumbled into the ground with a scream of pain. Jorge slowed down as the two men ducked into another alleyway as the police constables pulled out their batons and tazers walking up to us.

"Stop and put the weapon down!" A male officer yelled, Jorge running to my side.

"How is he?" I asked shifted slightly closer to the officer as he walked forward, both of my hands up in the air.

"Stable but if we don't get him to a hospital, he's going to die of blood loss." Jorge whispered, the officer and his tazer well within an arm or two's reach.

"Officer, these men are Special Forces. They're running through the streets with guns!" A frightened civilian quickly spoke to the police officer as I rolled my eyes.

"Special Forces?" The officer replied in a panicking voice.

"We're seriously going to do this again?" Bal said with a frustrated sigh.

"All units, all units we have three special forces soldiers shooting up the place. Requesting back-up, requesting back-" The man spoke into the radio as I cut him off.

I took a step forward, grabbing his hand with the tazer and kneed his arm. He yelped as I pulled him forward and elbowed him in the face. Something hard smashed into my back. My tolerance to pain numbed the impact. I turned around to see another male police officer about to swing down with his metal baton. My left arm grabbed his baton hand, my right fist smashing into the constable's stomach. Once, twice, thrice until he was on the ground. I grabbed his baton and looked up to find four K-9 unit officers with their dog. Looking to Jorge and Bal who holstered their weapons, I gave a short nod. We rushed forward as I grabbed a tazer gun. I squeezed the trigger. Two small clips exploded from the pistol and stabbed the first officer shocking him into the ground. Throwing away the gun, I flicked my hand out to deploy the baton. The officer pulled out his own and swung at my head. I ducked slashing the metal stick at both of his knees crippling him to the ground before bringing my hand back and smacked the side of his face. He fell onto the ground cold as I saw Jorge and Bal quickly disarm and knock out the police officers. The German Shepard jumped at Bal who quickly grabbed the dog's neck biting at the animal's own jugular with a snarl. The animal turned away cowardly and yelped, running away from the scene. Sirens blared in the air as I looked to see more police men walk out. Riot shields, tazers, police batons but no guns. I felt something like a mosquito bite stinging me in the bicep. Turning around, I saw a female officer who paled as I turned to her. I grabbed the baton and tore it from her hands before pushing her onto the hood of one of the constable's car and cuffed her with her own hand cuffs. The fight dragged on as three men took out fifty police officers before the SWAT team arrived and even they didn't stand a chance with their weapons. Police officers and SWAT teams alike laid down on the ground in a pool of blood, the odd policewoman on the ground cuffed with their own gadgets. A man in police uniform finally walked up to us with two scared police Sergeants armed with tazer guns. He had what looked like the Royal Crown on his tabs, from which I guessed was the Commissioner.

"You've basically decimated my entire police force. Can you explain why you were doing this?" He asked as I looked at him wiping the blood from a lucky shot off of my forehead.

"We're chasing down a known terrorist. Your police force made me lose him when I was hot on his trail." I grunted back, looking behind me to see the Arab gone but his briefcase still lying on the ground.

"Well then, since we don't have anymore hostilities, drop the weapon and just turn yourself in." The commissioner suggested as I looked to Jorge and Bal whom were covered with blood and sweating nodded.

"Okay." I replied throwing the baton onto the ground.

"Bring them to the station." The commissioner ordered, his two men slowly inching towards me.

"Don't cuff them, you'll do yourself more harm to yourself if you do and holster those bloody things." The commissioner said walking back to his Audi S8.

The two Sergeants guided us into a police car. Before they closed the door, the policewoman whom I cuffed walked up to me and gave me a small piece of paper.

"Call me." She said with a smile as I chuckled.

Four hours later we were back inside the hotel with the whole team assembled. Elf brought his L96A1 sniper rifle and the briefcase he took from the injured Arab whom he sent to the hospital. Jorge was by the window with our satellite phone calling his kids and Bal eating a Subway sandwich on a small coffee table filled with massive amounts of food. I was inside the bathroom cleaning off my wounds and washing the grime and sweat off my body. In the mirror, my back was covered with reddened spots from where the baton hit. On the sink next to my phone and pistol was the number of the policewoman. I thought about it as I pulled on my cargo pants and tank top.

"Just call her Flint." Bal said, only using my names when we weren't in the field or running ops.

"I don't know Bal." I replied pocketing the phone and shoving the pistol into the back of my pants.

"Have a good time, you're in another country. Its good to keep your mind of the world of war for a night or two." Bal suggested as I pulled out the phone looking at him before tapping in the number.

"Hello?" A voice asked.

"Hi, uh, you gave me your number a few hours ago when I was in the police car. I was just wonder if you wanted to go out tonight?" I stated looking at Bal who was smiling widely, his face full of pride.

'Shut the fuck up.' I mouthed to him as he walked out with a chuckle.

"Yeah sure, where do we meet?" The policewoman asked with giggles in the background.

"In front of Saint James Hotel?" I replied walking out to the living room.

"Okay I'll meet you in an hour?" She asked once again as I nodded.

"Sounds like a plan." I stated watching Elf read through the documents with Jorge on the computer, finished with his call.

"Okay then, I'll see you later." She replied.

"Bye." I placed the phone in my pocket.

"What do we have?" I asked picking up a plate of pizza.

"A list of cities, bomb descriptions and a lot of names." Elf replied giving me the piece of paper.

"Beijing, China. Moscow, Russia. Tokyo, Japan. London, United Kingdom, what the fuck is this?" I asked reading the paper, eating a slice of the pizza.

"All of the countries are either NATO, in alliance with the United States or with Russia. My guess is this goes beyond some revenge plan." Elf stated walking over to Jorge who sat with a Macbook Pro next to Bal.

"Jorge?" I asked quickly, grabbing a can of Coke and sipping the carbonated drink.

"I've crossed referenced the names with the CIA, GRU, FSB, MI6 and got the code name of defectors. Surprising thing is that they've all defected within both the same time and place." Jorge replied looking up at me.

"Guess where." Jorge stated, drinking a small can of coffee.

"You tell me." I replied looking at him.

"Iraqi Kurdistan, Arbil." Jorge stated ominously.

"Shit, that's where we're headed next." I whispered as Jorge nodded.

"Hey what happened to that spook you were with?" Bal asked from the coffee table.

"Don't know, she disappeared in all the action." I replied feeling the phone buzz in my pants.

"Weird." Elf commented taking apart his rifle.

"Its what spooks do, they disappeared when you least expect it." Jorge stated with a sly smile.

"I've got to go, ride's here." I said with a small smile.

"Can I tag along?" Bal asked as I nodded.

"What's a party without my wingman?" I replied laughing, the other two shaking their heads in disapproval but with a smile.

"Kids." I heard Jorge say with a small laugh as I closed the door.

We met with the policewoman, whose name I found out was Claire Bursnell. She and her friends decided to take us around for a tour of the city and the night life. The next few hours were a blur of lights, music and alcoholic drinks searing through my throat. The first few drinks didn't phase me, the ones that came earlier made me dizzy and uncoordinated, after those I was gone. Everything was black. So much for a party.

* * *

><p>April 22nd, 2014<p>

Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint, 1st MEUSOC Battalion

Room 403, Saint James Hotel

London, England

1135 Hours

I was pushed out of sleep by a pounding headache and the ringing of my phone. Growling, I turned over and felt something on my back. It was smooth and silky, light in weight. I cracked my open to see a blonde head buried in my shoulder. Great, I just got in bed with someone I met yesterday. My phone sat on the nightstand ringing and vibrating on the stone. Just a bit further, my hand just a few centimeters away. I grabbed the phone and answered the call.

"Hello?" I grumbled, the woman turning around and exposed her breasts.

"We've got a visual on Hannibal from SATCOM, he just went inside a Swiss bank a few minutes ago." Jorge quickly explained as I groggily got out of bed.

"Where's Elf and Bal?" I replied pulling on my jeans with one hand.

"Elf's standing by with his sniper rifle at the building opposite of the bank. The British SWAT teams are on stand-by to evacuate the building. We're going in with the fifth freedom." Jorge stated, the woman stirring around.

"Where are you going, Sergeant Flint?" It was the policewoman...fantastic.

"I've got a call." I stated walking to my backpack the size of a small girl and pulled out my vest.

"What is that?" She asked walking over to me with the blanket.

"Like I said, I have a call." I grunted pulling a khaki t-shirt over my body and then the vest.

I stood up and strapped a lightweight combat helmet onto my head. It looked like a skateboard helmet, just made out of Kevlar and titanium and filled with gadgets like a flashlight and video recorder. Knee and elbow pads went onto my limbs. A pistol holster on my right thigh and carbon fiber knuckled gloves finished off the attire. I looked at the police officer, her eyes going wide as I pulled out my main weapon: the HK417 rifle from my backpack. The rifle came in pieces, my hands quickly snapping them together and loading a magazine into the weapon. I grabbed my knife and pistol, holstering them in their own sheaths. Standing up, I made the smaller woman jump.

"Stay here for as long as you like and room service is on me." I said with a smile, pulling on a headset that covered both of my ears.

"Jorge, I'm walking to the front of the hotel. Where's Bal?" I asked standing in front of Bal's room.

"He's not awake yet, I'm trying to call him." Jorge replied quickly as I smashed on Bal's door with my fist.

"Wake up!" I yelled, my fuse getting short.

"Wake up!" I yelled again as the door opened.

A girl stared at me, her body stiff as Bal walked up from behind her.

"What's up?" He said nonchalantly.

"Get your ass in your gear now." I replied through gritted teeth, he's eyes going wide understanding the gravity of the situation.

"Got it boss!" He yelled pulling the girl away from the door and quickly closing it.

I walked to the elevator and punched the down button. My foot tapped on the floor involuntarily. The elevator dinged open with a family inside it. Two young boys the age of eight and six and the parents seemed to be either British on vacation or American tourists. I quickly smiled at them getting inside and pressed for the parking garage. A few moments of awkward silence passed before it was broken by the young boy.

"Mister, are you in the Army?" The American boy asked as I turned to him.

"Duncan!" His mom said quickly, trying to keep him quiet.

"It's okay ma'am." I replied with an reassuring smile.

"Yes I am, I'm actually in the United States Special Forces." I stated, the father ruffling his son's hair.

"What are you doing in this part of the world?" The father asked as the elevator doors dinged open.

"Saving the world, the usual high speed stuff." I explained looking at the two boys.

"Take care of your kids, they're lucky to have you." I said as the parents looked at me nodding, the door closing behind me.

"...because I never had a real one." I whispered with a sigh.

The doors slid open again to reveal a security detachment waiting for me. Jorge was speaking with a SWAT team leader behind their assault van. Nowadays women were allowed into the SWAT teams serving as one of their own fire team officers. One I met stood over with her men checking their equipment and combat armor. I heard someone walking up behind me. Turning around, I saw Agent Oliver wearing an armor vest and wielding the lightweight MP7 sub machine gun fitted with a reflex sight.

"Where the hell have you been?" I grunted walking to Jorge.

"I had a call back at the CIA's headquarters about a leak in MI6." Agent Oliver explained, Jorge having a blueprint laid out of the van's side.

"Staff Sergeant." Jorge greeted with a quick nod.

"Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint, I'm Police Commander Jack Lockheart leader of the SWAT's Alpha Team." The fairly large British SWAT officer greeted me, shaking my hand.

"What's the plan so far?" I asked the two, Bal showing up next to me with his hair wet.

"Since yesterday, Hannibal has been seen with two new Arabs. The four of them plus the surviving guy we saw yesterday entered the bank at 1130 Hours this morning. Since then we've tagged fourteen extra Arabs and Russians just to be safe. All of them have been inside the bank since then." Jorge explained showing me a video on his iPhone.

"The bank is being safely evacuated by undercover cops and is close to empty. My police force...or what's left of it since you took most of the officers out, are in the surrounding are. They are ready to mobilize when needed. What's your plan of assault, loud or quiet?" Commander Lockheart asked as I smiled.

"Our plan is to infiltrate the bank from the back door then work our way into the lower levels. Five minutes after a silent infiltration, SWAT and police forces will push inside the bank. Secure the room and wait until we come out. We don't need a massacre here." I quickly explained, the three nodding.

"Cans?" Bal asked pulling out a silencer.

"Cans." I repeated as the Commander looking at the men and women in the parking garage.

"Alright let's saddle up and get ready to hit the building!" He bellowed the order, the three of us and the spook jumping inside the assault van with the SWAT team.

"Agent Oliver, I want you to stay here you -" I said with her cutting me off.

"I told you I can handle myself." She growled back as I pulled out my phone, the van's engine starting with a rumble.

"No I need you to call this number and request Vadim Sidorov of the Russian Spetsnaz Vympel Group. Tell him Staff Sergeant Flint of the Marine's Special Operations Group has important intel. Then go help Elf spot in the building opposite of the bank." I ordered, the spook nodding with embarrassment.

"Elf, give me a SITREP." I spoke into the radio and powered up my optics.

"I've got my eyes on a couple of civvies with the undercover units evacuating them. Give them a few minutes and the building will be empty." Elf reported as I nodded, looking up at the female SWAT leader.

"First time?" I yelled seeing the SWAT leader tapping her fingers on the hand guard of the silenced MP5.

"Third, it just keeps my andrenaline flowing too much that's all!" She replied, the truck screeching to stop.

"Hey Jorge you have some Tylenol?" I asked my teammate.

"Here! Take two!" Jorge yelled throwing me a small cylinder, I popped two into my mouth and swallowed it dry.

"Your stop Jarhead!" The commander yelled from the back of the truck.

"We'll see you on the other side!" I yelled back, getting off the van and closing the rear doors.

"Well gents..." I said flicking the safety off my rifle and looked to the other three.

"...game on." I whispered with a smile.

"Hoo-fucking-rah." Bal replied racking his FN2000.

"Let's do this." Jorge whispered as the three of us walked towards a metal door.

The bank was large and tall, filled with glass and security cameras. Jorge flashed his right fingers and pulled out the C4 dough. He rolled it into small spheres and stuck the clay onto the hinges before pulling out what looked like two small cylinders the size of a cigarette. You don't want to confuse those two, one gives you nicotine, the other has enough power to take your fingers off your hand. Jorge plunged the blasting caps into the door and backed up against the wall behind it. Bal and I did the same.

'Three, two, one...' Jorge mouthed, his fingers curling into his hand as he spoke.

A small pop exploded from the door, the metal fall onto the floor with a bang. I was first in line. I swept my rifle into the door way seeing two men with Belgian made P90s patrolling the hall with two dead staff members. Good night princess. I held my breath and squeezed. _Clack,__psst_. The first man's head exploded into a mist of red. His body crumpled into the floor, his face splattering onto the stone. _Clack,__clack_. His friend looked back just to get two bullets into his face. Bal's rifle was up and covering me as we walked through the corridor. There were doors on the other side, but we didn't bother to check them. Our goal was to get Hannibal. I felt someone grab me around the neck, his right hand brandishing a gleaming matte black knife. My stomach and heart sank as the adrenaline and training kicked in. I pushed back on the attacker and made him fall onto the ground, his right hand knocking against the door frame. Something behind me cracked. His grip loosened as I pulled out my knife. Shit, he was bringing out his pistol. If he discharged the gun it would alert Hannibal to us. My right hand wrapped around his pistol, the man's head bleeding from his stumble into the wooden table. With my left hand around his pistol, my left hand grabbed the elbow of his arm and shoved it upwards making him scream in pain. My knife came shortly afterward and was plunged into his throat. Blood seeped from the wound onto my hand as he writhed around in my grip. Slowly, life faded from his brown eyes and soon he left the world of the living. Respect your enemies, my instructor taught me. I slid my hand over his face and closed his eyes standing up. My stomach was settled from this gory sight as we pushed on and down a set of stairs.

"Overwatch to Reaper, SWAT teams are enroute in thirty seconds. Callsign Guard dog and Watchmen." Elf reported as I squeezed the transmitter on my shoulder strap sending him a beep in reply.

We ascended down the stairs and hear a loud bang. SWAT was officially in the game. Men shouted orders upstairs, the steps leading down to a giant lobby with the vault door open. I pointed Jorge and Bal towards the corners of the room to give us the maximum amount of fire coverage. We walked slowly towards the vault and waited for a few moments. Jorge slowly paced to the side of the thick door and peered into the room.

"Get back!" He yelled, waving at us.

We started running back. Heat burned the hairs on the back of my neck as I was pushed into a glass window in front of me. God damn these guys loved using explosives. All turned to chaos once again. Dust and British pound notes fluttered in the air. Coughing, I pulled myself of the ground. My ears were ringing from the explosion and vision blurry. The helmet actually came in handy this time around. Heat still continued to dissipate around me, the walls shaking with dust falling off. The walls weren't shaking, it was the bullets hitting the wall itself. I shook my head to clear the mist of exhaustion and turned around to see the Russians the undercover cops tagged before fighting back with modern AK-47s. I lifted my rifle up and aimed down the sights. I walked through the dirt firing into whatever looked suspicious as all the staff down here was either dead or evacuated.

"Reaper, the SWAT is being hit hard by the Arabs. Can you help, over." Elf reported into the radio, his rifle firing in the background static.

"Negative, we are chasing the HVT. Can you tell them to pull back or hold their current position?" I replied firing a bullet into the nearest Russian.

"Roger that, Overwatch out." Elf stated as Jorge and Bal formed up on me, the two of us walking into the vault.

"Where the fuck is Hannibal?" Bal yelled in frustration, the three of us walking down aisles of metal safe boxes.

"There he is!" Jorge reported running towards the man in the charcoal suit with a suitcase in his right hand.

"I've got you covered, go back-up Jorge!" Bal stated, I patted his back and took off after him.

My lungs burned as the battle raged around me. Jorge was right behind Hannibal, firing his weapons to ward away unwanted guests. We neared a wall. I squinted to see what was on it. Three white squares – detonation charges. Hannibal brought his right hand up and squeezed the detonator. The wall exploded into pieces and the dust was kicked up into the whole vault. I charged forward and jumped over what looked like debris. The next thing I knew was the screeching of train brakes. Looking up, I saw Jorge ahead of me behind Hannibal. A train was headed directly for me. I stepped forward hearing bone crunch under its metal wheels. Some poor bastard wanted a shot at me but jumped directly in front of the train's track. I continued onwards, chasing after Jorge and the Russian. We ran down the length of what seemed like London's metro. My sprint helped me catch up to Jorge, his face red as he continued to pump oxygen into his body. Hannibal looked back and pulled out his pistol. He fired two shots in our general direction. I felt hot liquid flowing down my right arm. Adrenaline kept me from feeling pain. Hannibal fired again, this time emptying his clip. Bullets zipped all around us and ricocheted from the ground. Jorge grunted but continued to run forward and at an increasing speed. I looked at him and saw blood running down his left arm. We were both hurt. The chase went on for minutes before we arrived at a station. It was the evening and it was packed with civilians. Hannibal reloaded his pistol, aiming into the crowd.

"No!" Jorge yelled as Hannibal fired two rounds.

"Fuck!" Jorge yelled again seeing a teenage girl and a business man crumpling into the ground.

"Reaper to Overwatch, I need an EMT at Holborn station right now." I reported into the radio keeping my aim at Hannibal's head.

"Roger that Reaper, EMT on the way." Elf replied as he hopped onto the platform and grabbed the nearest civilian: another teenage girl.

"Don't come any closer or I shoot!" Hannibal spoke, his english heavy with the Slavic accent.

"Okay, okay, we won't step any closer. At least let us get to the wounded." I said, trying to negotiate as the civilians screamed in terror running around and blocking my shots.

"No! You let me go with the hostage and no one dies." Hannibal replied walking backwards.

"Jorge." I whispered and saw the man maneuver to my right, into his blind spot.

Hannibal paused and aimed his pistol at me as he moved backwards. A civilian blocked my line of fire and the next thing I knew, a gun shot reverberated through the tunnel.

"Shots fired, shots fired!" The local police radio exploded into activity.

"All units move it to Holborn station, all units to Holbron station!" The girl collapsed on the floor, her leg bleeding.

"Jorge go after him, I've got the wounded." I ordered seeing my teammate nod quickly.

"Stay with me." I whispered to the girl pulling out a medi-kit and a tourniquet.

She was bleeding from her stomach. I pulled off her backpack, folding her shirt up to reveal the wound and pulled out a small packet of white powder. Quick-clot helped the wounds form together faster, I poured the powder onto her wound to receive a hiss back in return. Ripping out the tape tabs and placed the gauze over her stomach. I moved on. Checking the business man's pulse, he was strong and steady. The man was shot right through his right chest and was wheezing for air. I pulled out a small syringe and stuck it into his chest. Air hissed out from the tube as his chest decompressed allowing him to breathe. A battle seal was placed on his chest to allow blood and air to seep out but not in. Jorge ran back into the room and picked up the girl.

"Where's Hannibal?" I yelled seeing him rip out his medi-kit strapped around his left thigh.

"I lost him after the police started clearing out the civvies!" Jorge replied as EMT teams started pouring into the subway station.

"We got this." One of the men told me, I nodded letting them do their jobs.

"Elf, Bal, report." I ordered still panting and wiped a bead of sweat off of my face.

"Bank is secured and locked down, SWAT sustained some casualties but nothing they can't bounce back from." Elf replied from his sniper perch, my arm just going numb and dropping to my side.

"Two here, vault's shot to shit and we got a lot of dead Arabs and Russians. The millionaires are going to be pissed by the time they get here." Bal reported as a female EMT came up to me.

"You're hurt." She stated gripping my shirt with her gloves.

"I'm fine." I grunted looking down at the wound.

Blood pooled out of it by the dozen, the skin opened showing muscle and bits of bone. It was a clean shot, in and out. She poured some antiseptic on it and wrapped some gauze around the wound. The kid was persistent on dragging me to the ambulance. Jorge got his arm treated and reluctantly walked to the van to get some more work done. Bal, Elf and Agent Oliver showed up to see us have our arms stitched together.

"How does it feel boss?" Bal asked with a smile, sharp pain exploding from the wound.

"Great." I hissed through gritted teeth.

"We're going to Arbil next huh? Live in a bag, sleep from a bag, eat from a bag...just hope we don't come home in one." Elf stated hugging his L96A1 sniper rifle.

"You coming with us too?" I asked the spook, one final wrapping of gauze before we were let go.

"Of course, I'm your intelligence officer now." She replied with a smile.

"Great..." I muttered.

"Next stop, Arbil." Jorge said with a pained smile, holding his rifle.


	3. Chapter 3: Desert Storm

**Thanks for all the reviews and favorites, I will continue to improve the story based on your feedback. I've got a lot more in mind for Sergeant Flint and his small team of operatives. Hope you enjoy guys and please read and review. **

* * *

><p><strong><span>At The Edge of The World<span>**

December 24th, 2014

Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint, 1st MEUSOC Battalion

1435 Hours

Agent Oliver stood near one of the cabinets and poured herself some more coffee. A single cup filled with water stood next to my hand. The sun was setting. The air thick with streaks of yellow from the dusk sky. People were getting home from work, I know that I would be one of them. So would Jorge, Elf and Bal, all the in the same car and smiling faces. His children would never see his face again. Agent Oliver casually walked back to her seat and took a sip of her coffee. Strong and black. She took a file from her bag. I started to wonder if that was all in her purse or there was something else. I looked at her open the file, looking at it before locking eyes with me and pushing the folder towards me. Operation: Raghead, named it myself. Someone from the same branch of service was being interrogated next door. I could just feel it. His voice sounded familiar as he answered the question. Agent Oliver tapped the folder waiting for an answer.

"Well?" She asked as I looked back at her cold green eyes.

"Well what?" I replied with a small sneer.

"Cut the bullshit Josh. Operation: Raghead, what went wrong with it? Why did you chase Hannibal into the desert?" Agent Oliver asked leaning forward.

"I'd like you to answer some of the questions myself. Where were you during the Operation and after. Where did you go..." I paused for effect.

"Agent. Oliver. Or are you a double agent?" I asked leaning backwards to see her mouth parting slightly into a snarl.

"Tell. Me." She stated firmly, picking up her mug with the CIA logo on it and sipped the brew.

"You have to trust someone to be betrayed, Agent Oliver." I whispered, quoting Captain Price.

* * *

><p>October 13th, 2014<p>

Joint Base Balad, Iraq

Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint, 1st MARSOC Battalion

0935 Hours

Iraq was one of the most hated place in all of the world. A shithole for terrorism and one of the world's worst killers. The sun was the killer nowadays, dehydration and sun stroke maimed in hundreds while bullets took the lives of thousands. PLR were thick throughout the middle eastern region. Recruits from Syria, Pakistan and Iran were sent in to Iraqi to fight Uncle Sam himself. I stood in the middle of the locker room suiting up for the mission. On my body was the same desert digies all the Marines wore. A lightweight helmet along with state of the art communication equipment encasing my ears. Two ropes dangled from my armor vest, never hurt to take more than one. My standard M1911 pistol and knife sat snugly in their holster. Magazine pouches hung from different parts of my body as I picked up a Colt Modular 901 rifle painted in camouflage fitted with quick acquisition reflex sights and foregrip, the perfect balance between close quarter firepower and long range precision. Walking outside, I felt the heat blast my body. Its been a while since I was back in the desert. Men stood around two helicopters chatting idly. The MH-60M sat with its long snot to receive fuel and extra domes on the nose to navigate the desert at night on the helicopter pad with four others like it. Pilots were studying navigational charts as soldiers ran around with their weapons to board the MV-22 Osprey into combat. Around us were strips of land that stretched kilometers before reaching any major city. The sky was barren and blue with minimal cloud cover. Hundreds of soldiers were deployed each day, dozens more were returned killed and wounded. The airbase was operated by a dozen other branches, French Army, British Army, American Air Force you name it. I walked to the group of men and looked at their leader.

"Well look who it is. Sergeant Flint back from the dead." The familiar face said with a smile, extending his hand as I chuckled.

"That's Staff Sergeant Flint, Rocky." I replied grabbing his hand and giving a firm shake.

"You know him?" A female voice asked from behind me.

"Know him, I fought with him during Desert Storm." I explained to Agent Oliver, the team rallying around me.

"Lieutenant John Ambergris, most people call me Rocky." The gruff Irishman shook Agent Oliver's hand.

"What a boner kill Rocky." Elf called out from behind me.

"Elf, where the fuck have you been Devil Dog?" Rocky said with a laugh, hugging one of his brothers.

"Doing high speed, low drag black ops shit." Elf replied giving the man a firm fist tap into his chest.

"Still got the punch huh?" Rocky coughed stepping back.

"Practice everyday." Elf replied, Bal stepping out with a large M240 machine gun.

"Hey little man, still holding a bigger gun than you have I see." Rocky teased with a sly smile.

"Shut up Irishman." Bal grunted, walking to the Nighthawk and placing his rifle on the passenger deck.

"Alright, everybody gear up! Get mean, get lean and get ready to fucking clean!" A voice yelled from behind me, I turned to see Captain Greg "Metal" Holland jogging towards us.

"Hitman One, mount up!" Lieutenant Ambergris ordered, the men jumping onto the two Nighthawks.

"Hoorah!" The force of thirty yelled jumping onto the passenger deck.

I walked towards the Nighthawk and jumped on the passenger deck. I placed my rifle next to my seat and turned to Agent Oliver encased in high-tech heavy armor along with a giant assault rifle.

"Well?" I asked holding out a hand.

She grunted and grabbed my hand. I smiled turning to Rocky who looked at me from the seat just behind the cockpit. He gave me a rock-on sign, usually reserved for black operations. The pilots finished their scanning of the charts and walked into their cockpits. Metal jumped into the seat in front of me, his M4 Carbine pointed out into the desert. The rotors started with a whirl and slowly spooled up into a loud rumble. I pulled out a headphone plug for the helicopter intercom and jacked it into my headset. The helicopter pilot looked back and gave us the okay sign. I flashed him a thumbs-up.

"This is your pilot, thank you for flying Army Special Operations. Now please buckle up and don't stick your hands out the side of the helicopter while in flight." The pilot spoke as the helicopter rumbled.

"Just get us there ARMY (Aren't Real Men Yet)." Metal barked as the Marines laughed.

"Alright Jarhead, hold on tight." The pilot laughed, pitching the helicopter dangerously forward.

The helicopter gained speed and skimmed above the surface. Wind buffeted against my body, fluttering against the clothes and feeling dangerously cool against the skin. We were heading into the green zone. A place where the US Marines and the ragheads of the middle east came together. The worst shithole in all of the middle east. I pulled down my sunglasses and looked out into the city. Smoke spewed from the metropolis, the buildings made out of tan bricks crumbling beneath rocket explosions and tank shells. We crossed over the expressway into the city. Red tracers darted up from the ground peppering the aircraft with sparks of light and bullet holes. The aircraft held from the increased armor but was slowed down to a top speed of one hundred and fifty knots, far too slow for a targeting portable missile launcher. We danced between apartment buildings and business centers extending from the ground like a sore thumb. A loud blaring alarm sounded in the passenger deck, red lights flashing on and off.

"Welcome to the green zone!" Metal yelled into the intercom as the pilots banked hard left.

"Incoming missile!" He grunted, pops exploding from the back of the helicopter.

"Dumping flares and jinking!" He murmured to himself as a smoke trail raced from the ground.

"Too much drama." Rocky muttered firing towards the ground.

An explosion rocked the passenger bay, sending the helicopter into an uncontrollable shudder. Smoke spewed from the rear rotor blades and the engines.

"We're hit!" One of the crew warned looking back from his post at the M134 Minigun.

"It's okay, I have control. Collective and flight stick stabilized, fuel is leaking but okay. Pedals are a bit shaky but we're flyable." The pilot panted back a response, concentrating on trying to keep the bird in the air.

"Just get us on to that rooftop!" I yelled into the intercom.

"Let's go over the plan one more time!" Rocky stated looking at his men.

"Reaper One will be rappelling down from the side of the building and will be in charged of nabbing the High Value Target! We will be the force that kills everything that moves, shoot or even breathes! The staff has been evacuated and the only ones in the building are hostiles. Even the waiter packs a Glock 24 pistol." Rocky quickly spoke as I saw the target building.

"Room service is going to be a bitch, huh Jenkins?" A Recon Marine asked his comrade.

"Fuck yeah!" The other replied with enthusiasm.

"Here we go, ten miles out. Going into insertion mode!" The pilot grunted, the helicopter descending to rooftop level.

The building was at least twenty stories tall with two floors of blacked out windows. Antennas and satellite dishes filled the rooftop of the hotel. Big bold letters reading, Al-Kublai were bolted onto the side of the tower in big red characters. Bullets grazed the side of my head as I leaned over to look at the rooftops. Fresh PLR troops were retaliating with AK gunfire and RPG rockets. Most of the bullets and rockets missed while some luckily pinged off the side of the helicopter. We approached the hotel. The helicopter pitched up and climbed up at a dangerous nose pitch. I gripped onto my seat as the whirl and roar of the minigun spat out five thousand rounds a minute. Hot and fresh brass casing rained down onto my skin. One even got into the back of my uniform. I felt my back burst into intense heat, my hands digging up the armor vest and pulled out the casing. The heat could still be felt through the gloves. The hotel's lip appeared from above the helicopter, I slapped my magazine one more time and slid the bolt of the rifle back just a centimeter to see the bullet casing brass.

"Three seconds!" Metal warned, the helicopter coming to a complete stop.

"Two!" He yelled again, the guards on the roof raising their rifle to fire at the moving helicopter.

"One!" The Marines opened fire as I stood up from my seat, gripping the passenger bay rail and kicked the rope off the helicopter.

"Go, go, go!" Metal yelled, my hands wrapping around the rope as thick as my arm.

My gloves fizzled and burned from the rope. The smell of burnt rubber and blood filled the air as the helicopter hovered for a few seconds longer after depositing the troops. Gust from the helicopter's rotor blew at my face and my uniform. A second Nighthawk rose up from under the hotel, deploying the second Marine squad. Two more would follow as Elf, Bal, Jorge and I rigged up the rappel line. I pulled out the rope and tied it around the rail. A D-ring secured the rope around my body. I tugged on the rope and saw Agent Oliver walk up to us.

"What are you doing?" She asked unaware, holding her sub machine gun.

"Its a rappel line, don't tell me you spooks in the SAD don't get rope training." I stated seeing the team checking everything on their vest for a tight fit.

"Come here then." I sighed, man I hate people who weren't adequate enough for the mission, intelligence officer? More like a nuisance.

"W-wait-" She stuttered.

"No time to lose." I said, chuckling with the rest of the team.

I clipped a D-ring onto her body armor and tied the rope around her web belt ensuring maximum safety in case anyone of them slipped. My hands worked so fast that even she didn't have time to react. The next thing she knew, her D-ring was hooked up against my back. I smiled pulling the rope tight and stepped up the rail. The team flashed their safety hook in the air.

"Hitman report." I ordered waiting for the reply, feeling Agent Oliver's breath skim my neck, making the hairs on my neck stand.

"Give us thirty seconds!" Rocky replied through unstable COMs.

"Hitman One-One ready." The COMs reported, their Alpha Fireteam.

"Hitman Two-One ready." The COMs squawked again, their Bravo Fireteam.

"Hitman Three-One ready." Their final transmission from the Charlie Fireteam came through.

"Hitman Actual, all ready. Stand by, stand by." Metal ordered as we waited for the go order.

"Execute, all teams green light!" Metal yelled into the radio.

"Hook up, here we fucking go. MARSOC!" I yelled into the air, slapping the back-up hook into the rail.

"Hoorah! Marines!" We all yelled at once taking a step back.

We ran forward looking over the cityscape and the skyline. I pushed off the rooftop and sailed over the rail along with my men. Adrenaline surged through my body overriding the fear in my gut. The feeling of flying off the building with absolutely nothing between your feet and fifty stories of ground was exhilarating. I felt a high shoot into my head, making it tingle. The building side rushed towards me in slow motion, god damn it felt like a year. My feet smashed into something rock hard. My boots absorbing most of the impact. The rush immediately escaped from my body and the pain sparked through my legs. I was holding up the weight for two people in armor, not just one this time. One hand held the brake rope while the other held my CM 901. Bal and Elf were already far ahead of me, running with the rifle held in one hand while Bal equipped his sidearm. We thundered down the roof towards the blacked out floor, the Marines running down their designated hallways and stairwells. The wind rushed through my helmet, cooling my sweat covered hair. Fresh air flushed itself into my lungs and the taste of metal still bitter in my mouth. My throat was dry from the sudden rush as we neared the floor. I paused, pulling the brake rope with the team waiting for the correct time. Jorge looked at me, his rifle poised in the air. Holding a rifle up with one hand in positive gravity was one thing. Holding up while upside down with blood draining into your head was another. Three bangs exploded from inside the room. The windows were still intact from the blast, that was our queue. I pushed off the side of the building and in one smooth motion righted my body in the air, feeling dizzy as blood quickly drained from my head. My knees were bent to absorb the impact of the glass. _Crack_. The glass shattered into a million pieces. Smoke flooded the room as two men with modern G36C rifles looked back at us in disbelief. My rifle shook twice. Both men buckled before even falling into the empty desk and chair. Both of my hands went to the rifle as the rope stripped itself from the D-ring along with back-up line. Another lone defender, this time with an Uzi sub machine gun. Two in the chest, one in the head. The blood splattered onto the crème wall behind him as he slumped into the onyx carpet. I scanned the area with my rifle, Agent Oliver unattaching herself from me.

"Clear!" A voice yelled from the other side of the room.

"Clear!" I yelled seeing the gray smoke slowly ebb out of the room through the window.

"Clear!" Two other voices answered.

"Where's the HVT?" Metal asked through the radio, the man himself walking to the middle of the room with his rifle pointed at the ground.

"Not here sir." A Lance Corporal replied reviving a death stare from the Captain.

"Thank you, Captain fucking obvious." Metal grunted as the smoke cleared.

"Search the room, I want everything looked at." I ordered my men, the Recon Marines following my orders.

"Roger Boss." Bal replied walking to the tables.

Agent Oliver looked at the walls with Elf and Jorge while I searched the tables with Bal for clues. It was spotless, no evidence, no smudges, not even disturbance of dust. Everything seemed...normal. That felt very wrong to me. Something drew me to the carpets. Odd. The small hairs went from one way to another, it kept a trail. It led to a painting of President Al-Bashir. I tapped the wall. Normal. I placed my hand on a small pedestal with a jug for decoration. The jug sank and a click was heard from the panting. Man it was like some super villain escape route.

"I think I found it." I called, everyone looking at the entrance.

"This has to be some super villain shit for sure." Elf grumbled as we walked into the door to find an elevator big enough for fifteen people.

"Hitman Two, Three back to the helos and get ready for a hot deployment. One with me." Rocky yelled seeing Metal walk back with the rest of the unit.

"Not coming along sir?" Rocky asked.

"I'm going on over watch." Metal said with a smile.

"Command I need SATCOM to find me any vehicles leaving the hotel's vector within a five mile radius." I ordered into the radio, the elevator buzzing slowly down.

"Roger that, satellite is coming into geo-sync orbit in five mikes." My radio squawked as the elevator clanked to a stop.

"Alpha, get me some heads!" Rocky bellowed, the team of seven men surging forward into a dark corridor.

"Reaper, NODs on." I ordered and pulled out a one eyed night vision device, mounting it on the lightweight helmet.

"Roger." The men replied doing the same.

I flicked a small switch on the side of the goggle, the pitch dark of my left eye turning into a bright and grainy green. Shadows were revealed and things that were hidden, exposed. Rocky and my team slowly walked after the eager Recon Marines watching their backs. A heavy metallic bang echoed through the corridor.

"Lieutenant, I found something!" Someone yelled as we ran around the corner, the private reaching to grab a box with the words: Operation: Jagged Liberty.

"Nile, no!" Rocky yelled, the team stopping in their tracks.

My eyes were blinded by an orange explosion. I felt my body pushed backwards violently. The air escaped my lungs and my back slamming into something protruding from the wall. High-pitched bells rang in my ear and the taste of smoke filled my mouth. I coughed still on the ground, my face resting on something cold with small pieces of debris poking my cheek. My body ached from the sudden explosion. My lungs sucked in air, it was musky with the heavy smell of smoke. Two fingers pressed into my neck. My body was pulled up and propped against the wall. A hand lifted my head up. I felt something lightly tap me on the cheek. My eyes fluttered open, a mess of orange, black and yellow blurred together. Breathing, breathing was all that I can hear and my heart pounding in my head. My vision slowly sharpened. It was Jorge.

"Flint, look at me. Look at me!" Jorge yelled, a trickle of blood running down the right side of his head.

"Is he...okay?" I asked as something restricted me from inhaling fully.

"The Private?" Jorge asked as I nodded trying to get up.

"KIA." Jorge replied, moving over to Elf and Bal.

"Rocky!" I yelled and coughed at the same time.

"Rocky!" I yelled again grabbing what stabbed me in the back, a shut-off valve.

"I'm...here!" Rocky yelled coughing from the corner of the corridor.

"Sound off!" Rocky ordered, getting up from the floor.

"I said, fucking sound off!" Rocky ordered again as Bal hobbled over to me.

"Ramirez, here!" A voice reported.

"Ollie, okay but shaken!" Another replied as I walked over to the door.

My right leg felt wrong, something warm dripped down to the boot. I hobbled with Bal into the doorway. The burning led to a giant underground garage with no cars. It was a place for the powerful to meet. Now, it was a graveyard for the Marines that were caught in the bomb. I noticed a bloodied body by the wall. The head looking to the left and the body along with the limbs twisted at a strange angle. Only the ballistic vest and the standard M4 Carbine laying next to the body identified the corpse as the Private that tried to pick up the box. Three others were on the ground moaning as four lightly wounded walked towards them. The Marines picked their wounded up and started walking towards the exit, spiraling upwards into the bright light. Bright orange flames still licked the body of the dead Private and the ground around the bomb. I walked towards him and picked up his rifle, Rocky patting the body with his FROG (Flame Resistant Organizational Gear) gloves. The smell of rotten and burnt flesh floated into the air as Rocky wrapped the corpse's arm around his shoulder. Elf and Jorge walked out from the corridor with his blowout kit in his hands. Jorge had a nasty cut from the top of his forehead down to his left lip, another trophy to add to out long list. Men carried their comrades in their arms walking up to ground level. I followed them up. A bright light blinded my eyes, the feeling of a cool, fresh breeze hitting my face. I didn't realize I was sweating until now.

"Reaper One, Command, we are tracking fifteen vehicles moving from the town in all directions. One we believe to be Hannibal is fifty klicks out. He's moving towards the Iran-Iraq border." The radio squawked to life after we emerged from five feet of solid concrete.

"Roger that Command." I whispered back, drained of energy.

"Baseplate we need CASEVAC for three wounded men, priority three." I ordered into the radio, priority three: severely wounded.

"Roger that, Mule Six inbound in one mike with Nighthawk Three." The pilot reported as the Marines propped their friends up against the hotel's rock wall.

"How are they?" I asked Rocky who gently placed Private Nile's body next to them.

"Two have broken bones, internal injuries and possibly a concussion. The other one has broken bones and a large shrapnel wound in his abdomen. Gauze is holding, but he'll bleed out eventually." Rocky replied with a sigh, the sound of rotor blades vibrating the air was heard in the distance.

"Pop green smoke!" I yelled seeing Jorge pull out a cylinder from his vest and pulling the pin.

"Mule Six inbound, confirmed friendly popping green smoke." The pilot spoke as I ran out to the road and raised both of my hands.

"Reaper One, confirm popping green smoke." I replied seeing the helicopter flare to land.

I waved the helicopter forward with both of my hands. The blackhawk with a red cross painted on the passenger doors slowly inched forward from the green smoke. Rotor wash split the cloud of smoke into small vortexes circling to either side of the helo. I crossed my hands and heard a screech from the blackhawk's wheels as it touched down. Men rushed out from the helicopter and grabbed the wounded Marines pulling them inside the medical helicopter. IV lines, bandages and EKG lines were connected to the Marines to monitor their health. I walked to the side to see the last of the Marines being loaded as the Nighthawks followed in behind the CASEVAC bird. I smacked the side of the aircraft twice and pointed my thumb into the air. The pilots saluted me and lifted off as the Nighthawks replaced the Blackhawk. The sliding door was thrown open as Agent Oliver stood their, crouching with her weapon with Metal.

"Where the fuck were you?" I yelled grabbing the rail on the helicopter and pulling myself inside.

"I had to go tend to some CIA business." She replied as the rest of the team and the uninjured Marines got in.

"Let's move it, we have a madman to catch!" I yelled seeing the pilots nod in response.

"Baseplate, I need two Desert Patrol Vehicles with portable communication gear and the maximum amount of supply on board. One, L96A1 sniper rifle and another M24EP inside them." I ordered, the helicopter banking back towards the base.

"Roger that, gear will be ready in ten." The radio crackled as bullets pinged off the side of the helicopter.

"You're bleeding!" Agent Oliver yelled from beside me.

"Just a flesh wound, its far from the heart!" I yelled back as she pulled up my trousers to the knee.

A small red cut leaking blood dripped down my leg and into the top of my boot. She pulled out my blowout kit and poured a small amount of alcohol on my leg before closing it up with a bandage. I grabbed a small liquid container from my vest. The bottle contained Oral I.V., an new liquid medicine that helped the blood cells absorb more water to hydrate the warrior faster. I threw the bottle out of the helicopter and saw the base looming up. Two main runways were filled with transport aircraft and fighter bombers. Two dune buggies with the large boxes strapped to their frames stood in the plain light. Four more Humvees were behind it with men pouring into them as we landed. I hopped off the helicopter as it landed and walked over to the desert patrol vehicle.

"What's this?" I asked Rocky, the officer opening the door to his Humvee behind us.

"You think you're going to get all of the action? Not this time!" Rocky yelled with a smile.

"Jorge, Elf get in the second vehicle, you could do with out a gunner. Spook, you're on co-driver and Bal you're driving." I ordered as the men nodded getting inside the car.

My leg throbbed as I jumped into the rear gunner seat. The Nighthawk lifted off to carry on their mission of sending and retrieving troops from the area. Jet fuel was heavy in the air along with sound of buzzing jet engines. Bal got inside the DPV and pushed the ignition button. The 2.5L turbocharged engine roaring to life beneath my seat. I pulled back the M2 Browning Machine Gun's bolt and loaded a round into the chamber. Looking down, I saw Bal push on the clutch and put the DPV into first gear. Agent Oliver looked at the M249 in front of her with a bizarre look, not knowing what to do. The engine roared even louder as Bal pressed on the accelerator. He released the clutch and the DPV lurched forward before the sputtered to a stop. Bal cursed and placed the vehicle back into neutral and started the engine again. He tired again, the furthest we traveled that moment was three feet.

"Bal, stop fucking around." Elf said with a laugh from beside us, his DPV roar with power as he revved it.

"Shut up it's been a while." Bal grunted as I hopped off the rear gunner's seat.

"You can't even drive stick, man the gun." I ordered seeing the Croatian grumble before getting out.

I jumped into the seat and pressed the ignition button. It's a good thing extra armor plates were wielded onto the sides of the sandrail-like dune buggy or else rocks would be hitting us at eighty kilometers per hour. The engined roared from behind me as I pressed the clutch and shifted into first gear. The stick shift itself was a rally style shift, back for up and forward for down. With a light tap on the accelerator, I released the clutch. The DPV smoothly accelerated down the taxiway towards three waiting C-130 transport planes. Two C-130s sat on the taxiway with their rear ramp open. I stopped just to the right of the C-130 and let Rocky slide in first. Lightest to heaviest when we drop off. Elf went next and sailed up the ramp, turning his engine off just as he stopped. I backed up and drove the DPV up the ramp and stopped to see the ramp slowly closing up the cargo bay.

"You Reaper?" A crewman asked as I nodded, the prop engines slowly spooling with an electrical buzz.

"We're dropping you fifty miles southwest of here. SATCOM spotted the HVT already twenty miles east of here, he's going to be turning south towards the border soon. We can't drop you there because the PLR have SAMs and A-A sites all around that region." The Crewman explained strapping our DVP down into the cargo deck.

"Roger that." I replied in a whisper, turning the small touchscreen LED screen towards me.

I pressed a small button on the side of the screen. A small battery powered the computer and communication systems, it was charged by the engine like the hybrid cars and held a sixty two hours charge. The black screen flashed white with the black letters reading: CISCO Military Technology in the center of the screen. CISCO was part of hundreds of other companies that made up the military communications network. I chuckled in surprise seeing the screen flash into a Windows 8 Portable Edition Operating System popped up. Four main menus were in the center behind an United States Army logo. I tapped the communication option.

"Bal, what's the SOCNR(Special Operations Combat Network Radio) keyword and Net-ID?" I asked our communication specialist.

"Keyword niner eight five Charlie two four Tango six three Zulu and Net-ID Sigma Six." He replied as I tapped in the numbers.

"Alright, you guys heard the COMs guy." I replied seeing Elf give me a thumbs up from in front of me.

I tapped back and saw the SIGINT(Signal Intelligence) tab. The tab opened up to three others, television, internet or radio. Tapping the radio tab, it turned out to be some Arabian station broadcasting in the local area. The reception was great either since we're on the aircraft and the DPV's antenna could only intercept television frequencies from a certain distance. I paid no attention to it until something flashed on the screen right below the Arabian Anchorwoman. The only word I could make out was Sergeant Juno Miller.

"Hey guys, come watch this." I called my team, attracting the whole cargo area of men.

"What the hell?" Rocky mumbled next to me in the middle of Marines and crew members of the C-130.

"Shame. You come to our country to murder us." President Al-Bashir spoke, standing next to a Marine from the tank battalion. His face was bloodied and his blonde hair stained with sweat.

"Yet we are the terrorist when we try to protect our nation and our people." Sergeant Miller continued to look at the man, light fell on his face from the window from in front of them and gave him a frightened look.

"This is the price you pay." President Al-Bashir finished, pointing to Sergeant as a Russian walked behind him. It wasn't Hannibal, it was Solomon.

"Fucking hell." A female crewman cursed as the Russian slit his throat with a combat knife, the blood pouring all over the floor.

"Sick bastards." The image sank in. Sergeant Miller looked down at the ground inside an abandoned building filled with mannequins just as the TV turned black.

"Their going to pay for slitting one of ours in the throat." Rocky growled angrily.

"Alright everyone get inside their vehicles and buckle down, we're taking off." The chief ordered, sending everyone back into their seats.

I placed the small computer on stand-by and leaned back on the seat. We lost another great soldier today, Sergeant Miller was a personal friend of mine back in Operation Desert Storm. Part of a tank crew he could deliver a tank round accurately to over a mile. He was quite the trick master. I took a moment to think about how his wife and children were going to go on with their lives without a father. The man in uniform would show up in front of their house with a letter and a box of belongings. Shaking out of the trance, I pulled out a Snickers Bar from my vest. The buzzing of the props got louder. I lurched backwards feeling a burst of speed from the C-130. A small porthole leaked light in from the outside. The desert base rushed by, the C-130 pitching up to take off. My stomach floated for a few seconds before settling back in. We were flying in the air. I was cross-trained with a Navy F/A-18F pilot and this was not even a tiny fraction of excitement when you launched off the carrier's catapult. The next few hours were spent cleaning equipment, tending to wounds and just plain old chatting.

"How's your parent's doing Bal?" I asked cleaning the barrel of my rifle with a dirtied white cloth.

"Oh not this shit again." Elf moaned as I chuckled from inside the DPV's driver seat.

"Every time the boss is bored, this always pops up." Bal replied, Agent Oliver writing in her small red Moleskine notebook.

"You writing in your diary?" I asked, Agent Oliver quickly closing the notebook as the both of us chuckled.

"None of your business." She shot back quickly as I noticed a few beads of sweat dripping down her forehead.

"You okay?" I replied taking off my glove and placing a hand on her forehead, her hair tied in a bun.

She sat there biting her lip, my hand feeling the coolness of her skin. Was it me or was she getting more pretty? Damn, the heat's messing with my head. Pink lips, blushing red cheeks, silky hair...wait – what am I thinking? I tore my hand off her forehead and sipped cold liquid from my water bladder. My glove went back on as the cargo bay turned red. The light was on. Women and men ran around the DPV and Humvees undoing the straps that kept the vehicles down and stable. I pulled the parking brake and waited for the signal. The chief gave me a five fingered flash, five minutes out. I pulled my sunglasses off and strapped tinted combat goggles around my helmet. One minute out, the engines roared inside the cargo bay with the Humvee being the loudest due to their larger 6.5 Liter engine. I looked back to see the chief smack a button on the side of the C-130's hull. A loud clank with an electrical whirl lowered the ramp. The sun was nowhere to be seen, yet it was still freaking hot. Cold air blasted at me from the ramp. A female crew member walked over to my vehicle and gave me a thumbs-up followed by a salute. That was my signal. I pushed the gear shift into reverse and disengaged the parking brake. With my right feet planted on the brake, I gave her a goodbye salute. She nodded as I lifted my foot off the brake and placed it on the accelerator. The DPV was spat out from the back of the Hercules, my body flying forward only to be stopped by heavy duty safety harnesses. I squinted going for a dim cargo bay to the bright desert. The sun hung low to the left of the C-130 as I turned my head slightly to the left to level myself. It was like the world was in slow motion, my hand gripped the gear shift and pulled it back twice. My stomach lurched as we landed on the ground. The impact jolted my body. I gunned the desert vehicle to the right of the aircraft and the deploying military vehicles. My hand pulled the stick shift back to change gears, the engine grumbling in response before roaring again. I saw Elf fly out the back of the aircraft towards a downward sloping desert hill. The DPV smacked with a thud and continued to travel behind us. The two ton and a half Humvee came next. It fell like a rock into the ground. A giant explosion of sand and dirt puffed up from the Humvee as it accelerated to join up with the faster and smaller DPV. Minutes later, a convoy of two DPVs and three Humvees were rolling down the desert.

"Reaper One, Hitman One Actual, we'll take the main road down to Al Kut. You do what you do best, see you in a couple of hours!" Rocky yelled into the radio, splitting out to the left of us.

"Roger that Hitman, safe seas and fair wind, out." I replied gunning the engine.

"Isn't this dangerous?" Agent Oliver yelled from her seat, her face not shielded by anything.

"Nope!" I yelled back as my head jerked back into the seat after being jolted from a small dune.

"Guys...I'm going to..." Bal moaned, my eyes looking into a small rear view mirror.

"Bal, head out of the vehicle!" I yelled while the Croatian barfed out and away from the DPV.

"Oh f-, no!" Elf grunted trying to refrain from cussing as I looked back at him.

"What the hell, Bal!" Elf yelled from his DPV, driving up next to me and his body completely splattered in green liquid.

"Good thing I'm sitting up here!" Jorge yelled from his gunner's seat, his voice crackling through the wind and radio.

"How far away from Al Kut?" I asked Agent Oliver, glancing over to see her completely stiff in her seat.

"Spook!" I yelled snapping her out of her small shock.

"Y-yeah?" She replied, my head jolting forward as we crashed into a sand dune and flew out the other side.

"Check the map!" I ordered shifting up and spotting two fast moving white shapes in the distance.

"Two possible tangos to our north, eleven o'clock!" Jorge called out, the shapes distorted in the heat waves.

"Let them come to us, then open fire." I replied as the DPV reached its top speed of just over eighty miles an hour.

"Roger that!" Jorge yelled racking his machine gun.

The trucks turned towards us, the white paint reflecting the sun's ray with white glints of light. I gripped the steering wheel tightly waiting for the moment of engagement. The wind howled at me and my throat was once again parched as if sand was being swallowed. Come and get me. I pulled the gear stick back into the DPV's final gear. We were hitting just over one hundred miles an hour on plain open sand. We closed with the white trucks at a frightening rate. Agent Oliver grabbed the weapon. She racked the bolt, the M249 proving too resistant to her. I smiled at her determination as she continued to pull back on the now dirty weapon. In the rearview mirror, Bal had his thumbs on the M2 Browning's trigger. I could see their gunner's wardrobe. Green forest camouflage jacket, ammunition vest and a red shemagh around his head. We got even closer. Now I could see the men inside the trucks. They passed by in a blur of white and gray. I kept going in the same direction I was heading in. Bullets crackled through the sky. Red tracers whizzed by the DPV as we traveled almost twice as fast as the trucks. Bal rotated one hundred and eighty degrees, firing his machine gun. _Bang, bang, bang. Bang, bang, bang._ The machine gun rang in short bursts. A sand dune sat between me and a ravine. It was short enough that we can make the jump. I looked to Jorge. He gave me a short nod. I heard a grunt from Bal, the Croatian standing up with a grenade in his hand. He slumped down and fell off the DPV.

"Bal!" I yelled, stomping on the brake and swinging the DPV around to a stop.

"I'll get him you go on!" Jorge yelled getting out of his vehicle as the trucks, I was torn.

"Make sure you get him to the RV!" I replied shifting back into first gear.

"With respect Sergeant, just get the fuck out of here!" Jorge screamed, the trucks traveling towards us with a plume of sand behind them.

"Go!" Elf yelled as I gunned the engine.

The engine roared like a broken record for a few seconds before the tires caught the sand. I swung the DPV around, the light buggy soaring towards the dune. A blaze of heat near my pants and the engine sputtered, dead. The DPV quickly slowed down but not before tumbling over the edge and down into a deep ravine. I looked up seeing darkness spinning around me. It was a blur of fear. All I heard was the beating of my heart, the sighing of my lungs and the scream of Agent Oliver. I tired to find the gearshift. Instead, I found something soft and silky. It was her hand. Better than dying a lonely death. I gripped her hand tightly as someone soared above us, the sand fell onto me from above. I felt a jolt. My helmet smashing into the anti-roll bar above me. I felt my body completely sink into the car seat as warm liquid dripped down my forehead. Darkness encroached the color of brown and black. My eyes fluttered close. I was gone.

_A hand fell onto my shoulder. My body was on a ground of pure white light. Someone stood in front of me, his khaki combat boots tainted with black oil and blood. I looked up. His face was obscured by a bright white light shining from above._

"_Where am I?" I groaned, the hand gripping mine._

"_Stand up Marine." The shape ordered as I complied._

"_W-Who are you?" I muttered seeing others walk in behind him._

"_We are those who came before you, those who died in the graveyard of the battlefield. We are the Marines of the past." The one in modern combat armor spoke, his helmet strapped tightly to his head._

_One had a ragged jacket on. USMC was printed on his pocket and his bandolier dirtied with blood. Another one stood behind the modern Marine. His tri-colored camouflage not used since the 1980s, stood with his M14 rifle. Another one had a uniform from the 1800s. One sword and an old navy coat, on his hat a little rope knot on top. I looked at the modern Marine seeing a small smile._

"_It's not your time yet. Finish the fight you started. You'll be here when your time comes. Semper Fi Marine." He stated stepping back._

"_Wait!" I yelled._

"Wait!" I grunted, my voice hoarse and dry.

I panted seeing a darkening sky and a stinging pain from my forehead. Something soft nestled me from the rocky ground. Coughing, I looked to see Agent Oliver sleeping against a rock wall. To my left was the wreckage of our DPV. The food and water was stripped from the frame, leaving only the fuel and guns. My hand touched my forehead. A bandaged covered the small wound just below my hairline. Limbs burned with aching and my stomach growling for food. I tried to get up. My arms failing to even support my weight. I felt someone drag me back. It was Agent Oliver.

"Get your hands off me." I growled eye an MRE pack.

"Stop, just...stop, please." Agent Oliver pleaded as I paused.

I looked back and shuffled my mangled body next to her. She was actually crying, the cold-hearted bitch working for men in suits, crying. My heart sank. Even though she was working for a faceless agency, I couldn't stand the sight of a girl crying. I sighed. Dirt fell on her auburn hair, her emerald eyes filled up with tears. She wiped her tears with a bloodied hand. My blood.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this." She whispered still sobbing.

"What was?" I asked grabbing an MRE package laying next to her.

"The woman you met in the elevator, the one who spoke French. She was the spy, the mole from MI6." She explained, sobbing even harder this time.

"She intercepted our COMs when we were in London..." I muttered ripping the bag open with my mouth.

"...damn!" I grunted pulling out a small package of powdered milk.

"What about the escape at the hotel?" I asked seeing Agent Oliver slowly wipe the offending tears from her reddened cheeks.

"She knows our frequency from the equipment you're using. Every word. Every transmission. Hannibal is listening to it all." Agent Oliver replied, my left hand completely limp.

"Ah..." I hissed trying to curl my fingers.

"Are you hurt?" Agent Oliver asked worriedly, sliding closer to my body.

"The spook is worried." I teased with a smile only to get a glare from her reddened eyes.

"Sorry, normal male reaction." I replied trying to lift my hand, the arm only lifting a centimeter from my hand.

She grabbed my hand. Her own felt soft, warm, secure. I haven't felt something like that in a long time. For too long my mother didn't even care about me. I went through school without any friends, without a love life, without any dreams. The Marines was a way out. A path of honor and redemption. Staff Sergeant Jake Mont, a Marine talking from a local recruiting office near my high school. I was convinced his 'see the world' speech, only to find out that there was much, much more. Agent Oliver wrapped a bandage around my arm to make an improvised splint. I curled my fingers around her hand. She paused and looked up at me. My heart quickened. The temperature felt like it was soaring in the night. She inched her head towards me. I did the same. I felt her forehead touch my skin, it was cool and silky. Our eyes met. Her lips parting from each other. I turned my head and inched forward.

"Reaper One, come in over." The radio crackled as I rebounded from the advance.

"I should...get the transmission." I replied feeling the heat surge into my face.

"I'll help you." Michelle suggested grabbing my left arm.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow." I said quickly as I was pulled up from the ground.

She helped me limp over to the flipped DPV, the anti-roll bars dented into the cockpit. My legs throbbed with pain as I was dragged towards the vehicle. The monitor was cracked but the guns were still intact. My rifle laid in a pile of dirt and sand just next to the vehicle. The M2 Browning dismantled from its mount, laying next to the cliff side. My left leg was completely numb and my right throbbing with pain. Michelle gently placed me next to the DPV and pulled out the radiophone. I had to catch my breath. The pain overrode everything I ever learned about pain control.

"Argh..." I groaned through gritting teeth.

"Is everything okay?" Michelle asked me, her hand resting on my head.

"I'm alright." I replied squeezing the phone.

"Reaper One-One, Reaper One-One, to all call signs over." I spoke into the radio, the dark quickly sweeping into the sky.

"Reaper One-One, all signs report over." I said one more time, the radio still silent.

The air started to drop in temperature. From fifty degrees Celsius down to five or four in a matter of minutes. With my eyes closed and my body leaning against the frame of the DPV, I could feel the metal slowly turning to a freezing cold touch. It almost felt hot to touch. Snot dribbled down from my nose and the white mist of hot air escaped from my mouth as I breathed. I was curled up like a car next to a fire. My body started to shake uncontrollably from the cold, shivering. Michelle was no where in sight. The dark night only allowed a meter or two of vision. I felt something on land on my shoulder. My hand instinctively went to the pistol holstered in my right thigh. Even that was too cold to touch. I looked back seeing Michelle. God damn it was cold. It only got worse. She sat down next to me and curled up in her thin combat long sleeved shirt. The sweat on my body started to harden and stick onto my skin. I remembered that I had a spare sleeping bag in the DPV just in case of an emergency. It was big enough for two if need be. I inched over to the back of the DPV. My body refusing to cooperate, my face now buried in the cold sand. Limbs and body aching from the cold and my injuries. Being trained in Arctic Warfare, I never imagined Iraq being a place to put my knowledge to work. My right hand reached out to a small green polyester. It was slick and cold. My two most hated feelings. My fingers wrapped around the buckles of the sleeping bag and squeezed them free. I quickly swatted the giant bag out and crawled over to Michelle, who was currently in a fetal position and trying to rubbing her arms for heat.

"T-take off your boots a-a-and get in the sleeping ba-ba-bag." I stuttered, shaking uncontrollably.

Michelle didn't even think twice. She kicked off her boots and jumped into the sleeping bag for two. I got up and slowly staggered to my rifle on the other side of the ravine. The CM901 was freezing cold in my hands. It felt like hot metal as I carried the weapon back and slid it into the sleeping bag. Michelle was still freezing but hell, better than sleeping in this temperature. I slipped inside the bag and placed the rifle next to me. The only thing separating Michelle and I was the heated air between us. I did what I was trained to do and edged closer to Michelle. She didn't complain as the both of us shared our body heat. My eyes met hers, her emerald orbs speaking without a single word being uttered. I could feel her breath blowing onto my face like a bucket of warm water. It felt...good. The only thing I could tell was that I had this strange attraction to her. Maybe it's from months of working with her or maybe even that she's different. There was just a gravitational pull radiating from her that I couldn't resist. My right arm had a mind of its own, it wrapped around her body and pulled her closer. She looked up before nuzzling her face into my neck. Her breath blanketed the skin and made small hairs stand up on my back. I placed my head on top of her hair, smelling the diluted vanilla mixed with the smell of dirt and sand. Sleep came fast from the exhausting day and the next thing I knew, I was whisked away into the void filled with bliss and contentment.

* * *

><p>October 13th, 2014<p>

One Hundred Miles from Iraq – Iran Border

Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint, 1st MARSOC Battalion

0335 Hours

The sound of crackling plastic awakened me from my slumber. I didn't want to get up, it was so warm from where I laid. The crackling got even louder, getting on my nerves. My eyes cracked open just a sliver to see what was going on. Dark shadows moved from corner to corner, chewing on the unfinished contents of the MRE. I pulled the small hood covering the sleeping bag off and reached for my backpack. The Jackals competing over for the scraps of food growled so loudly, they didn't even notice me pull out a Night Vision Device and a rifle suppressor. I twisted the metal can over the threaded barrel of the rifle and pulled on the left eyed goggle. Slowly, I moved the rifle from under the sleeping bag and shouldered the weapon. My left hand burst into pain as I wrapped the injured fingers around the hand guard. Moonlight sprayed onto the ground in front of me and illuminated the savage animals. Their coat was black and brown with white canine teeth shining inside their mouths. One was ready to attack, its eyes glowing green as it reflected light in the eerie green of the goggle. Exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale. Pause. Slowly walk the trigger back. _Clack, psst_. The bullet spat out from the barrel and punched right through the Jackal's head. Its body crumpling into the desert dirt with a puff of sand. The whole group looked over to me and started yelping, running away from the threat. Something ruffled next to me. This time it was a stray arm wrapping around my armored torso. There was a purr of content as legs wrapped around my waist. I was being pinned down. I turned around and saw Michelle's face buried in my neck. The cold morning locked me inside the sleeping bag. With a smile, I dragged the rifle and placed it inside the sleeping bag. Michelle shifted and looked up at me. Her eyes cracked just enough for her emerald orbs to see, heavy bags under her eyes. I looked down with a chuckle.

"Morning." I stated plainly and with a hoarse voice.

"What time is it?" She asked, mumbling from the early morning.

"0355." I replied digging inside my pack and producing two cans of SPAM.

"Wake me up in five minutes." Michelle mumbled and shrunk even further into the sleeping bag.

"Come on sleepy head, get up and eat some food. We have some hiking to do." I stated pulling up from the warm, comfortable and secure bed.

"Just in a couple of minutes." She whined as I sighed pulling out a butane burner and sat the two cans on the small plate.

"When you smell the meat your eyes will pop open." I said getting out of the bag and pulled out a tampon.

Most people will think I'm either crazy or insane at this point but no. When unrolled, the tampon made the greatest flint next to the actual rock itself. There was nothing but sand to burn. Salvaging equipment from the DPV, I pulled out my knife and jabbed it into the shock-absorber of the vehicle. I breathed into my hands to warm them up. The carbon fiber glove offer no protection to the cold. Red liquid splashed onto the unrolled, cotton like tampon. Grabbing a few rags and a spare BDU from my pack, I threw it around the tampon before pulling out a Zippo lighter. I lit the fire and took a step back. The tampon sparked with flames and quickly shrived into a clump of black ash. Red hydraulic fluid immediately lit on fire but slowly burned to a flame that reached at least ten centimeters. Holding my hands out to the fire, I could feel the warmth wash over me. I felt relieved and heard the sound of ruffling polyester. It was Michelle inching close to the fire. She curled up next to me and laid her head on my shoulder. Her hands carried my rifle. I laughed and pulled the rifle from her before grabbing the two cans of SPAM. She looked like the most adorable green caterpillar on the planet.

"Food?" I asked seeing the green bag nod.

I pulled open the tabs on the smoking hot cans and wrapped it around spare rags before giving it to Michelle. The green caterpillar grabbed the can and dug into it with excitement. I laughed at her hunger. I was like that once, after Arctic Warfare Training. No more hunger pangs. The heat from the SPAM radiated from the metal. Meat wafted into my nostrils with the scent of Tabasco sauce. In my hand was a plastic spoon and with every scoop, I savored the salted, spicy meat. It was the only thing left to eat next to the already eaten back-up MRE. Michelle and I slowly until the sun started to rise. Streaks of red spilled into the sky and the sun poked it's head over the horizon. Yellow slowly turned the sky blue. Both of us leaned against each other, waiting for the temperature to rise. Soon it was once again rising to forty degrees Celsius.

"Come on, let's get moving. We're miles away from that border." I stated getting up and feeling both of my legs throb.

"Now?" Michelle asked with a sleepy face.

"Let's go spook." I said pulling her out of the sleeping bag.

"I don't want to go yet!" Michelle whined smiling as I carried her bridal style to the DPV.

"Get your boots on and check your weapon." I yawned pulling the CM 901's sling over my head and grabbing a back pack.

"How long are we going to walk?" Michelle asked, pulling on her black combats.

"Don't know. No GPS, only a map and compass." I replied shrugging on the backpack and strapping on the L96A1 sniper rifle to it.

"I'm ready." I stated pulling up my shemagh, an afghan scarf, that I got out from the backpack.

"Alright, let's go." Michelle replied sheepishly as I pulled out 50-50 cord, the strongest kind of rope used by the military.

"Not this again." Michelle groaned as I threw the rope up and over the ravine.

"You ever go rock climbing?" I asked tying the cord around my waist and out the D-ring.

"No." Michelle replied worriedly.

"Well, there's a first time for everything." I said with a sly smile and gripped a protruding rock.

My arms burst into pain, my arms losing strength and my body falling back onto the floor. Michelle ran towards me. I told her to stay back. This was a fight within me. I tired and tried until I finally got half way into the climb. My whole body ached and was drenched in sweat. Pain coursed through me and slowly ate at my sanity. I pulled out a spike and slammed it into the stone. My right hand tied the cord around the spike and continued to climb upwards. It was a grueling thirty minutes before my hand finally reached horizontal ground. I pulled the one hundred twenty kilogram body full of weapons, ammunition and gear onto the safety of sand. Panting, I looked up at the blue sky with sweat dribbling down my face. Being a Marine was a painful road. At the end of the road, it was worth it. I got up after a few minutes of rest and looked down. Michelle was waiting for me to with a worried look on her face. I threw down the rope for her and grabbed onto the safety line. Michelle hooked up the rope to her D-ring and started to climb. Five minutes into the climb, she slipped. I gripped the rope with the gloves which started to slowly smoke from the heat and friction. My arms burned as she smacked into the side of the ravine just to grip the stone. Eventually, she reached the top. I pulled her up and saw her with nothing except for a light armor vest, an MP5 sub-machine gun and her sweat filled face. I gave her a smile and started to walk. She fell into line quickly. With a rifle slung in front of my vest, a map in my left and a compass in my right. The sun rose and fell with the day. Two days passed as we walked. My legs were sagging in to the sand. Dunes rose and fell without end with the mirages taunting us at every corner. I was tired. Keeping watch two days in a row was not exactly my game plan. I fell into the sand, exhausted and thirsty. Michelle crouched next to me and pulled my head up into her lap. I felt like she would be the last thing I saw in this forsaken land. Until the back-up radio unit that I had squawked to life.

"Hitman One to Reaper One-One, come in over." It crackled weakly with static.

"Get...the radio from my pack." I wheezed unable to keep my eyes open.

"Then?" Michelle asked quickly.

"Tell them, Reaper is at grid five zero three eight niner four four one six. Northeast by fifteen minutes..." I replied with a hoarse voice.

"Hitman One, this is Reaper One-One, we are at grid five zero three eight niner..." Her voice faded off, the exhaustion taking over me and the hot wind of the desert howling at me. I felt like I was not long for this world.

My mind blacked out. It felt like I was asleep forever. Time was non-existent, no one but me. Rest felt like it lasted forever. Until I was awaken by the jolting of the vehicle I was sitting in. I realized someone was holding me. Michelle kept me inside the DPV Jorge was driving. My leery eyed self opened my eyes and saw a large dune. Bal was nowhere to be seen. Elf was manning the gun.

"What happened?" I grumbled, scratching my eye.

"You blacked out, we're enroute on new intel from command. Hannibal's been found at a nearby bunker filled with postwar VX Agents and here's the catch. Command thinks they have the Novichok Agent." Jorge quickly brought me up to speed, trying to keep the DPV from flipping over at eighty miles an hour.

"Novichok?" I asked pulling out the sniper rifle bag and shifted in my seat to make room for Michelle.

"Chemical agent invented by the Russians in the '80s and '90s. It was designed to be undetectable, penetrate NATO chemical protection and be safer to handle. It's a binary agent. You mix two powders and then turn it into gas and voila, deadliest nerve agent in the world." Jorge stated shifting gears as we approached the staging area.

"Fuck, that's a recipe for disaster." I whispered unzipping the bag.

"Where's Bal?" I said pulling out the British sniper rifle.

"Enroute to the overwatch. We're on assault while you, Oliver and Bal cover our backs." Elf explained racking the M2 Browning's bolt, a hot round landing in my vest.

"What the fuck Elf?" I yelled reaching into my vest and pulling out a giant palm sized round.

"Sorry boss, I keep forgetting that you're not there." Elf said with a smile, Michelle letting a small giggle escape from her mouth.

"What are you laughing at?" I asked as she shook her head.

"How long have I been asleep?" I grumbled shaking my head and looking at the GPS, we were five miles out.

"Twenty five minutes, about twenty five minutes!" Jorge yelled in reply.

"Twenty five minutes...I've been asleep for twenty five minutes – eating a vanilla milkshake." I sighed seeing the top of a small crest with a lone soldier standing a top it against the blue sky.

"No you're not." Michelle stated sitting on my right thigh.

"I'm quoting someone from Generation Kill." I groaned, the vehicle coming to a stop.

"Hey Sergeant, how you doing?" Bal asked with a bandaged arm and the other holding the M24EP.

"Just fine without you, you Croatian bastard." I grunted and got out of the vehicle.

"Assault begins in one hour. Get the hide set up and ready to cover the assault force. Good luck, boss." Jorge stated with a smile revving the engine and driving away.

"The two of you, help me dig." I ordered pulling out a shovel.

The hide, a five feet by twelve feet hole that was at least two feet deep with a drain hole for run-off water and grenades. Elements of the hide consists of loopholes for the snipers to shoot out off, elbow rest, front and rear appearance emulating the ground, and an entrance for the snipers to go in and out of. All these things were absorbed in Scout Sniper school within two and four weeks of training. The rest was identifying targets, becoming an artist and learning how to shoot one shot for each enemy. Thirty minutes and we were done with a crew of three. It was invisible. Built on the crest of a dune, the top was sandwiched between sand and wood. Everything was built into the standards of the sniper and the burlap netting concealed the dark insides. Inside, I nodded at the hide and pulled out the British sniper rifle. I sat the L96 on the jutting elbow rest, just enough space for the barrel to meet the end of the burlap and the loophole. Bal set his modernized M24EP and spotting scope next to mine, only to be separated by a wall of sandbags. We started the next step: drawing the range card. Quick art skills go a long way. A small rock at eleven o'clock, five hundred meters and a dead tree at one o'clock, one thousand meters meant everything to a sniper. The assault begins in five minutes. Pulling off the armored vest and the BDU, all I had was my weathered skin and my trousers. Michelle sat behind us, I could feel her stares gazing up and down my body.

"Overwatch, Hitman beginning assault. Take out the guards for us will you?" Rocky asked on the radio as I nodded.

"Copy that Hitman, we'll send it to them." I replied, pulling back the bolt on the L96A1.

"Are you sure you can fire out to eight hundred meters?" Bal asked with a sly smile.

"Who are we, Army snipers?" I stated with a chuckle from both of us.

"Alright give me the dope." I ordered looking into the sniper rifle's scope.

"Wind five knots, full value rolling from East to West. Eight hundred and fifty meters with an elevation dip of twenty meters." Bal ordered in a monotone voice, the Zen in his voice.

The target was a bunker in the middle of the desert. No roads let to it and no one would know it existed. After the Iran-Iraq war, the bunker was built by loyalist forces to test new weapons and garrison troops. It could house over two thousand men and was a giant relic of the Cold War. The bunker was no more than a door in the middle of sand with two hidden pillboxes blocking the road into the bunker. They only had enough money to build two pillboxes fortunately. In each one was full of four personal guardsmen. They had good equipment and was armed to the teeth. These Russians were too probably recruited from the Spetsnaz. The new RPG-32 they carried was powerful enough to penetrate current tank armor, let alone any up-armored Humvee or DPV. My hands turned the knobs on the scope to account for wind speed, elevation and parallax. I saw my target up close. He had a giant cigar in one hand, sharing the cancer stick around with his friends. He was bald and carried the old and tested AK-47. Wearing tan body armor and a t-shirt, he was ready for the desert. The scope was calibrated down to the last click on the knob. I looked out to see Bal nodding to me. We were in business. I pulled out a heavy magazine box, the bullet was size of my entire hand. It was heavy, it was powerful and hell it was accurate. The .338 Lapua Magnum recorded the longest confirmed rifle kill in combat at 2,475 meters. I slapped the magazine into the rifle and pushed the bolt forward. A glint of brass shined from the chamber before disappearing into the barrel. The final step. I pushed the safety forward and made sure the firing pin, which jutted out from the back of the bolt, was primed.

"Overwatch, Assault force, we are ETA thirty mikes! I need those pillboxes taken out now!" The radio crackled with the roaring of the engines.

"Ready." Bal stated with confidence as Michelle walked over to the both of us.

"Stand by, stand by, stand by." I breathed, feeling my finger depress the trigger smoothly.

"Send it." I ordered pausing in mid-exhale and finished the pull.

The rifle recoiled into my shoulder as the round left the barrel with a crack. I kept my eye on the scope for a few seconds longer to see white vapor from the bullet trail hit the target. A red spray exploded from his body and he crippled into the ground. My right hand instinctively pulled back the bolt and slammed it forward to load a new one.

"Ready." Bal reported, already sighting his new target.

"Send it." I ordered again, squeezing the trigger.

_Bang._ The bullet exploded out of the barrel. His friend next to me was still in shock, the blood of his friend splattered all over her face and body. The cigar was extinguished from the red liquid. He crumbled into the wall as the bullet cut right though his chest. Now the guns were out and firing into our general area. Bullet whizzed by our heads, the firing procedure was thrown out the window. Survival was key. My hands worked as fast as it could. The last man being killed by a bullet to the face. I shifted focus. Bal was on the last Russian and he was damn lucky. I heard a grunt and then a scream. My head turned to Bal who was on the ground and in pain. The bullet from a stray round slugged him right in the gut, it penetrated the sand bag and found a way into this body. I took up the slack and fired the last round as Michelle tended to the down soldier. With the last round expended to the magazine, I pulled back the bolt seeing the barrel of the rifle smoking hot. I rushed to Bal and knelt down to help the Marine.

"Fucking Russian!" Bal grunted through his teeth.

"Wow." Michelle breathed ripping the uniform from his wound.

"How bad is it?" Bal asked about to look down, my hand holding his head firm to the ground.

"It's fine." I replied lying to him and seeing a fist sized wound near his abdomen.

"I don't feel fucking fine!" Bal screamed as blood pooled out into the sand and quickly drying from the heat.

"Blowout kit!" I yelled, seeing Michelle unstrap the medic bag around his thigh.

"Fuck!" Bal screamed again to drown out the pain.

Michelle pulled out a short syringe and stabbed it into Bal's thigh. His groans quickly became hums of pain. She then pulled out a giant gauze pad. Dousing the wound with quick-clot, Bal hissed in pain. Spittle from his mouth spilled into his neck. Michelle's hand came down on his wound. Bal let out a blood curling scream. I held down his wound as she wrote a G on Bal's head to designate him with a gauze bandage on his abdomen. Gun fire was heard from the front of the hide. I got up and saw the four Humvees and DPV driving into the bunker, firing into the pillboxes as they went. The vehicles stopped and dismounted. The small group of Marines walked first into the bunker. Michelle and I carried Bal outside to the dunes. I grabbed a red smoke grenade and placed it on the ground. Pulling the pin, faint red smoke started to ignite from the top and bottom of the grenade.

"Command, Reaper One, we have one wounded at grid five zero three eight niner four nine, fifty minutes east. Require blood packs on arrival over." I spoke into the radio with my CM 901 still slung around my neck.

"Roger that Reaper, CASEVAC on the way, five minutes out from Camp Colt, command out." The radio replied as I nodded.

"He's going to be okay right?" I asked seeing Michelle nod.

"Come on Bal, stay awake." I ordered tapping his face.

"I feel high as fuck boss." Bal replied with a carefree smile.

"I'm sure you are." I smiled seeing a Marine walking out with something in his hands and giving it to Jorge.

"Hey Sergeant, you have to see this." Jorge radioed as I gave Bal one more pat on the chest and walked into the hide.

"What's up?" I asked pulling on the vest and strapped on a combat helmet.

"Some maps marking out Paris, New York, Moscow, Japan, Beijing and the major cities." Jorge replied, another blazing hot gust of air wafting our way.

"What's different?" I asked sliding down the sand dune concealing the hide.

"Names of everyone hitting each city." Jorge stated, that was big news.

"Our friend Hannibal's hitting NAS Nor - " Jorge started as a giant bang interrupted his sentence.

"Hitman One Actual, all callsigns, what the fuck is going on?" Rocky yelled into radio.

"Sir something..." The Marine stopped and started to cough.

"Ahh!" He let out a cry of pain that echoed through the desert.

Green gas started to smoke out from the bunker. I stopped still a couple hundred meters away from the bunker. Jorge and the rest of the Marines ran back from the small jut in the ground. More screams of pain joined the single voice building up like an eerie chorus to a song of death. It was something you remember, it was something you couldn't get out of your mind. The screams were interrupted by the sound of buzzing. CASEVAC was here and the UH-60 Blackhawk landed where Michelle and Bal were. I started to climb back up the sand dunes. The sand digging into my nails and the vest. The screams started to subside as the men loaded up Bal into the chopper. I looked at Michelle, her face was masking her sadness. The green gas probably killed the Marines by now. HAZMAT was called in but they also died. The nerve agent was able to penetrate the suits they were in, two hours passed and the gas was almost gone. At least one hundred men was now on scene. The bunker was a goldmine, both for the gas and the intelligence. Michelle and I sat on the sand dune watching the sun set. My sniper was laying in my lap, with its innards laid on the plastic sheet next to me. A small rag soaked with gun cleaning solvents went through the barrel as I watched the men at work.

"You ever think about dying for your country?" Michelle asked as I looked at her.

"I have and I will." I grunted twisting the barrel into the chassis of the rifle.

"Why?" She poked further into a wound that was closed a long time ago.

"Because the Marines is the only family I have." I sighed picking up the matte black bolt.

"When I was young, I lost my father. He was a veteran Marine just like I am now. Five years in Desert Storm and five years in Afghanistan. He died of an IED." I recalled wiping the bolt until it was sparkling clean.

"My mom remarried some middle class guy. He was strict and stern, he was a traditionalist. Beatings were plentiful. He brought a daughter and a brother. Both were viewed as better than me." I said with a small chuckle.

"Look where they are now, one's a secretary to some failing company and another's in jail for drugs." I stated with a small smile.

"Is that where the scars on your back are from?" She asked as I nodded.

"My stepfather use to beat me for coming home late. I was studying to be a business man just like him. Trying to study or not, he beat me either way. It was like I was a vent for his misfortune. I eventually found my dad's dog tags though. It drove me to find the fatherhood figure in my life. Staff Sergeant Jake Mont. Sergeant Mont fought with dad in Desert Storm, he's still morning his death but he was happy to see me. I lied about my age and joined the Marines when I was sixteen. Mom stopped caring after me and went to her two stepchildren instead. Doesn't matter, I got on myself just fine." I explained replacing the bolt into the rifle and snapping the two ends close.

"I'm glad I met you at least." Michelle whispered looking at the sun, the sweat dribbling down her face.

"Why is that?" I asked with a quirked curiosity and eyebrow.

"I was born into a rich family, I never thought I'd be doing something like this. My father prepared me for the business world not...this." She mentioned the desert stretched in front of us.

"Yeah, it's different from a comfy chair and an oak table." I said with a small chuckle.

"I mean I have everything done for me and when I met you and you're determination, it seemed to dwarf mine. You've been fighting all your life, I've been fighting just through college to get a good job as a CEO." She replied with what I felt was humility, it sparked a small fire of attraction inside me.

"When you get to be as old as me...well you are as old as me. When you get to experience the world like I do, you'll understand why you are better off ignorant." I stated seeing the bodies of mangled, decaying and molten skin being carried off.

"Just like that." I said, Michelle looked up as I covered her eyes.

"Don't look." I said with worry that the sight won't ever be erased from her memory.

"I'm not a child Josh." She snapped pulling my hand from her eyes.

"You cannot unsee what you already saw." I stated picking up the sniper rifle.

"Staff Sergeant Flint!" Someone yelled from below, it was my boss Colonel Neil Jordan.

"Yes Colonel!" I bellowed carrying the rifle in my hands.

"Get your ass down here!" He screamed as I slid down the dune.

He was six feet tall, built like a football player with graying hair and sharp blue eyes. Colonel Jordan's eyes were full of fire and his upper lip curling in a snarl. A scar ran down his right brow all the way down to his neck, he was a living example of the Marines.

"Yes sir." I snapped a salute and stood at attention.

"Tell me what the fuck happened Sergeant. How did six men from Recon and three men from the HAZMAT team died. Tell me how Corporal Baljoge got wounded from a bullet in the gut. What in the fucking world went wrong Sergeant?" Colonel Jordan screamed in my face, a knot being tied in my stomach.

"Sir, the men went into the bunker without any intel except that Hannibal was there. The Novichok agent -" I started with Colonel Jordan finishing off my sentence for me with Jorge and Elf standing behind him.

"The Novichok Agent? Do you hear what you are saying? That nerve agent was disposed when the United States found out in the early 2000s. There is no Russian nerve agent out there that can kill a fully protected HAZMAT team and there is no way that this 'Hannibal' is planning an attack on the United States. We have every Air National Guard, Alphabet Agency on these defectors and they have turned up nothing." The Colonel spat out each word as the three of us took every one of it.

"But sir -" Jorge started.

"Shut up, squid. All of you are being reassigned to helping a United States Marine force in Paris search for this 'Solomon's' nuclear bomb. I'm reassigning fire team Bravo to this mission, I've had enough of this bullshit...even with Sergeant Blackburn's Recon team. Dismissed." The Colonel went so far to use 'squid' a term for navy men in an insult.

"Fuck that was harsh." Elf commented walking over to me.

"What are we going to do now Staff?" Jorge asked as I shrugged.

"Do the best that we can do. We don't get to choose where to go." I replied with a sigh.

"Get your gear, it's time to move out." I mumbled with Jorge ruffling my crew cut hair.

"Cheer up kid, command isn't an easy job. You're doing great as far as I can tell." The older Navy Seal praised as I gave him a small smile.

"Thanks." I muttered.

"Alright let's go eat some snail." I stated, running up the dune with Michelle behind me.

"Hoorah!" The men yelled running back to their vehicle.

"Are you okay after all that?" Michelle whispered as I nodded.

"It's a mistake I have to learn." I replied grabbing the CM 901 and Bal's M24EP.

"See this is why I'm so interested in you Sergeant Flint. After all you've gone through you're still loving the Marines." Michelle said with a smile.

"Oh no, I'm loving every second of it." I stated with an even bigger one.


	4. Chapter 4 Part 1: Stuck at Sea

**Author's Note: Thanks to all of those people who reviewed and especially to my Beta Reader, Forohe Toxophilus. Now this is going to be a bit slow as we wrap up the events happening in the world of Battlefield and I've had to split the chapter into three parts due to its length and complexity. If you can call it slow that is. Anyways, hope you enjoy this next chapter. Please leave a review if you enjoyed it.**

* * *

><p><span>At The Edge of The World<span>

December 24th, 2014

Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint, 1st MEUSOC Battalion

1525 Hours

Agent Oliver tapped her fingers on the desk as I finished tell my side of the story. Her glossed nails glinting in the sunlight. She sat at a small table to my right looking at her Macbook before getting up. The smell of strong, black coffee once again was wafted into the air by the machine pouring it out in a small area of the room. It was meant to keep the interrogator going. Agent Oliver rubbed her eyes and took a sip of the liquid. She walked back to me with what seemed like her eighth cup of coffee. Another file came out from the desk. Are they hiding these for a scavenger hunt? They seemed to be coming out from everywhere. She opened the file and pushed it to me. A sigh escaped her lips as I picked up the papers. Operation: Cyclone Thunder. The mission where I took the backseat in the action and the mission where I escaped death by being on the sidelines. A picture of a Russian with black hair, strong jaw and brown eyes reminded me of the unexpected ally. Dima Mayakovsky, the man who detonated the nuclear bomb in France and turned it into a nuclear wasteland – or so the press headlined it. I knew him as the bravest man in the world at that point, having the balls up to up against sixty or more enemy soldiers and coming so close to stopping the bomb. Another one with the bald head, Kiril Tarasov, he was the one who vectored me in for close air support. Then there was the one with a scar on his left cheek and blue eyes, Vladimir Kamarivsky, the man who was left behind. He died from the pursuit of the courier.

"Remember them?" Agent Oliver asked sitting down.

"Yeah..." I murmured with a sigh.

"What happened in that briefing room at the end of the third day, Josh? What did Lieutenant Keller and Colonel Jordan tell you?" Agent Oliver asked with the steel in her voice that I never could expect from my ex-girlfriend, I got up.

"Where are you going?" She snapped.

"What, I'm not allowed to walk around the room after three hours in the chair?" I growled, picking up the cup filled with water.

"What did they tell you?" She asked again as I walked up to the glass window.

"They just told me that I was being pulled back into the mission after Bravo Battalion fucked up in China and that I was being promoted to Master Sergeant after the actions in the battle for France." I replied sipping from the cup and looking into the skyline of New York, filled with high rising skyscrapers.

"That can't be all of it now can it, Josh?" Agent Oliver asked in a seductive tone as I felt a hand run down my service sweater.

"What are you doing? Are you trying to seduce me for information?" I replied and pushed her away.

"Do you not remember what you did to me?" I asked pulling up my shirt to reveal a fresh and red knife wound on my abdomen, covered by a bandage.

"There was a reason Hannibal escaped in Nevada!" I yelled filling up with rage.

November 13th, 2014

Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint, 1st MEUSOC Battalion

U.S.S. George H.W. Bush

0635 Hours

I walked down a dim corridor filled with Navy crewmen with a cup of warm milk in hand. The flight suit was tight down in the lower areas but hell, at least it was more comfortable than unwashed BDUs (Battle Dress Uniforms) in the desert. The aircraft carrier was filled with a strange buzzing and the constant noise of waves crashing into the hull. Bal was in the infirmary, recovering from his gun wound two months ago. An AK bullet can really take a big chunk of meat out of anyone. The smell of metal hung heavy in the air and the sight of grey would drive anyone mad. Only those who were on duty would adjust to it. Luckily for us, we were going to get some fresh air at thirty thousand feet. I turned a corner and walked into a locker room filled with little black metal containers just like the ones we saw in high school except with names on them. Elf and Jorge stood in their olive grab flight suits and g-suit all zipped up. The air bladders kept us from blacking out when we pulled high Gs. Michelle sat on the bench looking at her yellow helmet with an orange tinted visor that extended unnaturally out from the top. I walked in and finished my milk, throwing it into a nearby trashcan. The three looked at me as I opened up a locker labeled: Lieutenant John "Spook" Colbert, pulling out a G-suit and helmet.

"Where are we flying today ,boss?" Elf asked with his red helmet wrapped under his left armpit.

"Paris, we're covering a small force of American Marines. The Vympel group just gave me intel on a small Russian Spetsnaz force operating in the area. They have a lead on the bomb Solomon smuggled out of Iraq. We're going to make sure it doesn't go off." I stated pulling on the vest.

"Looks like we're going to be on the sidelines again, huh?" Jorge said with disappointment, stepping out from the room.

"Patience." I replied grabbing the helmet.

I stepped over the small ship door and looked at Michelle. She sat idly for a few seconds before noticing me. She stood up and followed me out. The four of us walked up a flight of stairs towards another door filled with bright, white light. The sound of growling jet engines and roaring winds from the catapult immediately made my ears ring. A navy crewmen saluted us as we walked out. I nodded squinting to protect my eyes from the bright sun. White slowly ebbed away to reveal a vivid blue sky filled with light clouds and the sea rolling beneath us. Two F/A-18F Super Hornets sat on the aircraft elevator in front of us, the gray rounded nose, wide wings and squared air intakes shining in the sunlight. Their pilots were chatting to each other next to the aircraft as we walked across the small flight deck where the strike fighters landed and came to a complete stop in less three seconds. The Hornet I was flying was upgraded with a small IRIS-T (Internal Infrared Search and Track) pod mounted just in front of the nose wheel and underneath the gun bay along with two conformal fuel tanks were mated to the top of the LEX (Leading Edge Extension) providing extra fuel with little to no loss in mobility. A small hump in the middle of the dorsal fin was a laser and infrared missile warning system along with dozens more positioned throughout the aircraft for a sphere of protection along with two new Enhanced Performance Engines giving the Hornet up to twenty percent more thrust as part of the International Road Map Plan from Boeing. We were cleared to walk through here just because there were no flights scheduled and we were the only ones going up today. The jet engines were from below, the aircraft mechanics testing out repaired engines or spares. There was a woman with long blonde hair tied in a ponytail with her flight suit arms tied at her waist and a man just a head taller than her with a blonde frohawk chatting with each other. She spotted me and turned to greet us.

"Staff Sergeant Flint." She stated with a smile.

"Lieutenant Hawkins. Lieutenant Colbert, nice to meet you two." I replied shaking both of their hands as Michelle did the same in response.

"So you two ready to go up?" Hawkins asked placing her hands on her hips, the wind blowing at her blonde strands of hair.

"Yes ma'am." I replied seeing the flight crew pulling out the red pins from the strike-fighter's weapons.

"Don't call me ma'am, we're all friends here. I just hope you remembered what I taught you Oliver. It was a lot to absorb in one week." Hawkins stated to Michelle as I helped her up the four stepped ladder.

"Don't worry, its all in here." Michelle tapped her skull and jumped into the backseat.

"I'll see you back on the ground for a beer." I replied to Hawkins, who gave me a friendly love tap on the ass.

I slid into the pilot seat of the F/A-18, having flown it twice before. With the helmet on my head, the wind blew at us with a muffled ruffling. I only heard my heartbeat and breathing. I connected the radio, JHMCS (Joint Helmet Mounted Cueing System) and oxygen hose into the aircraft. A green shirt or a navy crewmen working with aircraft maintenance climbed up next to the cockpit. He helped me pull the harness over my shoulders and clipped it together. I gave the harness one final tug and gave him a thumbs-up. He nodded and slid back down the ladder. I looked up and pointed my right index finger in the air, giving it a small turn. The green shirts quickly walked away as I signaled to them I was about the start the engine. With a flick of two switches, a low rumble accompanied by a high-pitched whine slowly got louder in volume. Both engines were spooling up. A few minutes later the engines were roaring in my ear. I pushed up a small lever and looked up, seeing the canopy lower itself down towards me. The canopy slammed into the frame with a clank before pushing itself forward and locking us in with a whirl. Now the engines were just an audible growling in my ears. With the engines came the avionics with three color displays blinking with the words: STAND-BY. I tapped the left MFCD (Multifunction Color Display) to the navigation page and the right to radar. Turning up the intercom button, I decided to have a chat while we sat idly in the cockpit.

"Everything set Miki?" I asked teasing fun at her with a nickname.

"When did you come up with a nickname Josh?" She replied, smiling as I looked at her rearview mirror.

"Is everything set?" I asked again looking to Jorge and Elf, the two already unfolding their wings.

"Yeah, yeah, everything's set. You're no fun at all you know that?" Michelle stated as I pulled down the orange visor.

"Good to know." I replied in a bored tone, turning on the rest of the aircraft's system.

"Reaper One, tower, request taxi to CATs (Catapult) One and Two over." I stated as the HUD (Heads-up display) of the F/A-18 was projected onto the orange visor.

"Roger that Reaper One, cleared to taxi to CATs One and Two." The radio crackled with a female voice.

I looked up at the yellow shirt and placed my two fists together with the thumbs pointing out to the side. I jabbed the two away from each other, telling him to remove the chocks holding the aircraft from moving. A blue shirt quickly slid under my jet and pulled away three pairs of yellow blocks. The yellow shirt lifted up his fists into the air. In his hands were two orange light sticks that waved us forward. I pushed the throttle up just slightly and felt the aircraft ease forward. The roar of the engine got louder as I shifted the throttle ever so slightly. I leaned forward and looked down over the gray nose to see the yellow shirt. Who ever sat in this seat had to be the size of Elf. Then again, the pilot probably flew the jet for more years than I did and was already an expert. It didn't hurt to be careful. The yellow shirt extended his right hand over to the catapults. I complied pushing the left rudder pedal and turned the F/A-18 left towards the bow of the aircraft carrier. Two rails spaced just far enough for two jets to position themselves wing-to-wing sat near the bow. I stopped as another yellow shirt waved me forward. I did so very carefully, pushing the throttle up little by little. A man in white held up a small digital screen reading five hundred thousand and thirty eight. That was the weight of the aircraft in pounds. It was to be factored into the catapult launch. The yellow shirt waved his hands backwards, then to the left. I adjusted. He was waving back again. A second later, he crossed his hands behind his head. I pushed on the toe brakes and stopped the aircraft. The yellow shirt ran to the next catapult where Jorge and Elf was lining up. I looked out into the blue sky. White clouds drifted aimlessly through the blue sea. The water merged with the sky, it was like two halves of a different world. The sun crested the horizon to my right and slowly rose as the day went on. At the bow, the steam-less electromagnetic catapult sat ready to launch the aircraft into the air. The oxygen hissed in my mask and tasted stale. I could feel the warm milk wafting its way back into my mouth and nose as I breathed. A yellow shirt stood to the right of my aircraft waiting patiently with his hands crossed behind his back. I could see that he was really enjoying his job, staring at my aircraft. Another flick of a switch unfolded the wings. I looked over the shoulder to see the two wings slowly unfolding from a right angle. They shuddered the aircraft as they unfolded and locked into place with a clank. I looked into the rear-view mirror and gave Michelle a thumbs-up. She looked up and returned the gesture, her orange visor reflecting like a mirror as she buckled the oxygen mask into the helmet. Men and women buzzed around the aircraft, pulling a small shuttle that locked onto the nose wheel which in turn was connected to an electromagnetic catapult underneath the ship's flight deck.

"Miki?" I asked setting the aircraft parking brake to 'on'.

"Ready." She replied grabbing onto the rails bolted on her cockpit.

"Wait." She stated as I looked at the mirror.

"Reaper One, Tower, cleared for take off on course one five four. Squawk ident code five zero zero over." The tower stated as I nodded moving the flight stick in a circular motion or wiping the control surfaces, looking back to see the stabilizers and flaps move up and down.

"Roger that Tower, Reaper One copies." I replied hearing and seeing the control surfaces move with a robotic buzz.

"Reaper One-One ready for take off." I stated looking to Jorge and Elf as the two were lined up next to me.

"Two ready to take off." They replied with Jorge giving me an okay, the jet blast deflectors raising up into position.

"How many times did you fly this plane?" Michelle asked looking at me from behind the seat.

"Twice...okay once, the first time was in a simulator." I replied quickly.

"Josh!" She yelled angrily.

I pushed the throttle up to full military power. The growling engine in the cockpit became a roar of hot air blasting into the deflector behind me. We were ready to take to the skies. I turned the parking brake off and felt the nose of the aircraft lower, the thrust forcing the aircraft forward only to be stopped by a small shuttle bolted to the nose wheel of the aircraft. I gave a thumbs-up to the waiting yellow shirt and a final salute. He nodded looking left and right before pointing his finger into the sea. A man in a black shirt ran around the aircraft checking it for a final time. He gave the yellow shirt a thumbs-up. The yellow shirt nodded to a white shirt to the left of the deck. I gripped a handrail on the left of the canopy's frame and waited for the 'shooter'. He knelt down on his right knee and pointed his whole body right at the wide, blue sea. I felt a quick jolt forward only to be thrown back into the ejector seat. It was a blur of blue, gray and black, the F/A-18F thundering down the flight deck. My heart pounded in my throat and my stomach lurched. Michelle let out an ear splitting scream from the back seat. She never experience a roller coaster such as this. The jet took to the air. My stomach started to float as the flight systems automatically pitched up ten degrees above the artificial horizon. The helmet encasing my head was thrown forward into the instrument panel, only to be stopped by thick military grade harnesses. I grabbed the throttle and the stick, quickly pushing the Hornet to the left and flying a ten degree clearing turn from the carrier. Looking back, I saw Jorge quickly follow me into formation. A groan was heard as Michelle closed the gears for me and gave me full concentration on flying the aircraft. I leveled out flying a course of one five four and tapping the transponder code into the UCP (Up-Front Control Panel). Not so long after, we crossed the seven mile mark.

"Reaper One, altitude restriction canceled, you are cleared to climb to thirty thousand feet. Turn left heading zero nine zero into France, over." The tower spoke as I pulled back on the stick, feeling the weight pile up on my body.

"Roger that tower, Reaper One out." I replied seeing a thick cloud covering the blue sky ahead of us.

"Reaper One, this is Kilo Five-Three orbiting Paris at twenty thousand feet. Radar contact established, fly preplanned flight path and maintain radio silence, over." The radio squawked once again.

"Copy that Kilo Five-Three, Reaper One out." I replied keeping the aircraft pointed at a twenty degree climb.

We entered the cloud. Inside, water droplets pitter-pattered on the canopy of my aircraft and streaked down the glass faster than one could blink. The fog of opaque white covered the aircraft in a blanket of cool air. I looked back and saw nothing but the passing flicker of my aircraft's wing. On the right was a set of green and red lights blinking in the mist of white. I looked back up at the HUD seeing the speed tape on the right side of the artificial horizon reading three hundred eighty knots and the altitude at five thousand and four hundred fifty feet, steadily rising. We broke through the cloud layer. The white fog turned into blue skies accompanied by a blinding sun. Just like Icarus, if we flew too close we would burn up. Man could I feel the heat radiating off of that giant yellow ball. I squinted and twisted a small knob on the side of my helmet. A darkened black visor flipped down from inside the helmet, protecting my delicate eyeballs from completely shivering up from the sun's rays. With a flick of the flight stick, I rolled the aircraft over and held the nose inverted. Michelle let out a quick yelp as blood rushed into my head and started to tint my vision red.

"Go on, reach out and touch the sky." I whispered looking straight up at the sea, it like a deep blue canvas that constantly reflected sun light.

"Wow..." Michelle muttered into the intercom.

"...this is beautiful." She finished her sentence as my vision started to turn even more red and my legs already feeling numb.

"Yeah, except that the blood is rushing into my head and draining from my legs." I grunted, rolling the aircraft over again and flying level.

"God damn." I cursed turning on the radar, the blood draining from my head. I felt tired all of a sudden.

"You two look like you're on a honeymoon." Jorge replied flying up to my right wing and closing up until his nose could touch my wing tip.

"How so?" Michelle replied as we cruised leisurely at four hundred knots towards France from the beaches of Normandy.

"Don't know, I have this funny feeling in my gut about you two." Jorge replied flying the aircraft with his green helmet.

"Its nothing." I replied coldly and tapped a button on the UCP, initiating the auto-pilot system.

"What do you mean it's nothing?" Michelle shot back from behind me, she was angry alright.

"Wait-" Elf began just to be cut in by Michelle's rant.

"I cared for you at the hotel and the ravine in Iraq and this is how you repay me?" Michelle yelled in the radio, I felt like I was being scolded at by my mother. Mother preferred violence to words though.

"What, the hotel?" Jorge asked perturbed.

"I spent a whole day in that ravine, nursing you back to health Josh!" Michelle screamed, my hands quickly tapping the UCP for updated flight plans.

"You spent your first night alone in the fucking ravine?" Elf stated with surprise.

"Yes alright, I fell in love with a spook!" I yelled angrily, my teammates asking questions that kept irritating me.

Awkward silence fell on the flight as the occasional ground and air chatter interrupted the humming of the engines in the cockpit. We leveled out at thirty thousand feet and steadily held the speed of three hundred fifty knots. The radar picked up six blips, fifty miles out. I switched the IFF (Identification Friend or Foe) Interrogator to the SIF (Selective Identification Feature) used for identifying civil aircraft. Quickly pinging the aircraft in the immediate area, I discovered most to be of international origin. Boeing 787s and Airbus 380s flew below us at fifteen thousand feet inbound for Bordeaux – Merignac Airport near the west coast of France. The blue ocean melted into the pale beaches of France, green rolling hills and small cities dotted the country side. I looked back seeing contrails spewing out from the twin engines of the F/A-18F. Back on the radar, four contacts moved towards us at five hundred knots and the IFF reported nothing back. I switched the SIF back to IFF Mode One for identification. By the time I got an answer from the IFF, the four shapes were already five miles out from us. The blob of contacts were in sight. Four gray and black shades merged with us, the aircraft crossed over our canopies and shook the jet. The four of us looked back seeing the aircraft formation splitting into pairs and slicing back towards us. Two aircraft flew close to my left wing. A single seat aircraft with canards near the rounded air intakes and a delta wing design. It was two Rafale Ms, the premier naval aircraft for the French Navy. Two others were a delta wing fighter armed to the teeth with missiles. They were Mirage 2000-5 fighters from the French Air Force. The pilots broadcasting on all channels speaking in French to us. I had no idea what they were trying to tell us. I looked to the Rafale pilots and cross my arms together in front of me, I don't know what the hell you're saying. Now they tried English.

"State your intent." The pilot spoke.

"FAC (Forward Air Control) flight enroute to Paris to cover a small Special Forces assault for a nuclear weapon." I replied seeing the ground below shift from sea to ground.

"Reaper One, feet dry." I reported to the AWACS.

"Copy that Reaper, Kilo Five-Three copies." The AWACS replied as I looked back to Michelle.

"Doing well back there?" I asked seeing her nod, her face passive behind the darkened orange visor.

"Talk to me Miki." I stated looking back to the HUD.

"What's there to talk about?" She snapped back at me.

"Reaper One, our commanders have ordered us to escort you to your destination." The French pilots stated, easing their aircraft in front of us.

"Roger that, take the lead." I replied settling in for the long trip.

The Rafales and Mirages shifted into a diamond formation in front of us. Just a few feet away from their exhaust and below it was our nose. I looked up seeing little specks of yellow flames licking the exhaust petals of the engine. The Mirage's delta wings held four close range, heat seeking Magic missiles and two larger Meteor MDBA radar guided missiles. Right under the fuselage of the Mirage itself was the centerline fuel tank to help the three decades old fighter stay on station for more than an hour. A French Air Force roundel was painted close to the other edges of the wings and the two tone blue-grey camouflage chipped and worn with age. The Rafales were younger in their existence with the canards adjusting slightly to the air to help the unstable aircraft stay afloat. Its darker matte camouflage still glistening with the young age. The combined French aircraft's jet blast flew over the wings and fuselage of my jet, the dirty air making the Hornet sluggish. Not to mention the uncontrollable shuddering and shaking of the flight stick and the whole frame of the Super Bug itself. The vibrations shook the flight stick, making me adjust the control surfaces every so often. I looked to the right seeing Jorge constantly looking down at his instruments and Elf tapping the buttons on the backseat. It looked almost comical. The six feet tall Marine sat straight up with his head just centimeters away from the canopy glass. Leaning over the canopy, I saw the countryside slowly disappear into small towns with multi-floored buildings and soon the towns turned into urban cities. Hundred upon thousands of high rising buildings stood tall below me. They were the size of my pinky. Within a large square of buildings stood a structure several hundreds of feet tall. Sandwiched between two parks of trees was a road running right through the middle of it. The four legs meeting up into one spire at the tip of the building. It was the Eiffel tower standing in the middle of Paris itself. It was the size of my thumb as we thundered above Paris at thirty thousand feet. I looked up to see the four French aircraft peel away from us, heading back towards their base.

"Kilo Five-Three, Reaper One, I have radar contact confirming that you are in the AO. Turn right to one three six degrees and head towards the military district of the city." The AWACS spoke in my ear, my head looking in the direction I was about to travel.

"Roger that Kilo Five-Three, Reaper One enroute." I replied banking the aircraft right and turning the master arm on even though we didn't need any weapons on this trip hopefully.

"Miki, can you power up the ATFLIR and get a fix on the Marine base?" I asked craning my head to look at the horizon.

"Miki?" I asked again not getting an answer.

"Lovers quarrel." Jorge whispered into the radio.

"Miki!" I yelled leveling out the aircraft and looking back.

"Are you angry at me?" I stated seeing her shake her head.

"Mm mm." She replied in a cute little voice.

"Isn't that cute." I said with a small smile behind my mask.

"At least the ATFLIR is on." I stated switching the right MCFD to the TGP (Targeting Pod) display.

"I have a location on the Marines." Michelle reported, the TGP automatically seeking to the base as she controlled everything else but the air to air weapons.

The black and white image being projected on the MCFD showed hundreds of glowing shapes. Vehicles emitting hot gasses and heated metal. Men on the ground were the size of dots and the helicopters themselves going to and from the makeshift based glowed bright white. On the UCP, I tapped the radio tab and found a set of frequencies that the Marine and Navy units used. Cycling through each one, I waited until I heard some ground chatter. Channel Eight preset at five point three eight four megahertz was being used by the whole Marine ground unit.

"Whiskey Three, SITREP." The radio squawked, the two of us flying just overhead.

"Whiskey Three, Joker Actual, all men accounted for and ready to take the fight to the enemy." Another voice replied as the radio signal was just barely audible from the static.

"This is Reaper One to all ground units, we are flying at thirty thousand feet, right above you. Ready to coordinate CAS assets, over." I reported banking right and circled back towards the base.

"Roger that Reaper, nice to have a Jarhead with us. We're going to being operations in thirty mikes. Until then, stay tight over." The person who seemed to be in charge replied as I banked right again.

"H-...Am-...Reap..." The radio crackled, this time it was not on the radio frequencies used by the United States military.

"WSOs (Weapon Station Officers), I need you to zero in on that frequency. Someone's trying to contact us." I ordered seeing Michelle quickly tapping buttons on the WSO station.

"Hello...Reaper!" The voice came through weak at first but slowly we pinned down the frequency.

"Hello, American Aircraft, this is Dmitri Mayakovsky from the Russian GRU's clean up team! Reaper One, come in over!" The voice yelled through the sound of traffic.

"Dmitri, this is Staff Sergeant Flint from 1st Marine Special Operations Capable Battalion. What do you need, over." I replied looking down at my digital fuel indicator.

"I need you to hold your Marines back. We are tracking courier with the weapon now. Oscar Mike to the Paris Stock Exchange." Dmitri replied as I looked down at the Marine base.

"Give me a coordinate." I ordered and leveled out the aircraft.

"Joker Actual, this is Reaper One. We have intel from a trusted source that the courier carrying one of the nuclear bombs is now being followed. Orders are to stay put in the base until a Russian SpecOps team find the bomb." I explained seeing the final few helicopters land to drop-off troops before banking back towards the sea.

"Russian SpecOps, fuck that. We are Marines and Marines take the fight to the enemy! All callsigns, this is Joker Actual, jackal. I say again, Jackal!" The Marine commander ordered, the vehicles inside the base rolling out from the ancient fort and into Paris.

"Shit, looks like we've stirred up the devil dogs." Jorge cursed looking down at the hundreds of armored vehicles thundering onto the streets filled with civilians.

"What is happening Reaper? The military just closed down a street near the tower." Dmitri asked, the air vibrating with the sound of turbine engines.

"The Marines are rushing into suspected points where the nuclear device might be held." I stated seeing a waypoint pop up on my HUD.

"Roger that Reaper, looks like your men are too hot for action huh?" Dima replied with his Slavic accent.

"Copy that, I have your coordinates. Vectoring to support you now." I said, shifted the stick right and peeling away from the base.

"Orders, Lead?" Jorge asked as he maintained his position just off my right wingtip.

"Elf switch to the Marine COMs and maintain a situational awareness for the Marine units. I'll take the Russian's COMs and feed you any information you need to know. Let's make sure Paris is safe people." I ordered flying away from the Eiffel tower.

At thirty thousand feet, the city became Lego blocks. Down below me was the Paris Stock Exchange. There was something majorly wrong. For one, buildings don't vent out green smoke. The second was the void of life around the area itself. Cars drove along the streets but none going into or out of the three storied building with an underground parking garage. One black SUV turned into the parking garage. It was the Russians. They drove to the front of the building and three men got out. From up here they looked like small dots moving into a big rectangle. I looked back at the ATFLIR and saw the green lights from the Russians, Michelle locking the targeting pod on them. They disappeared into the building. It almost felt like child's play as we waited for minutes. Something happened, something bad. The back door of the building was smashed open on the ATFLIR. Sixteen or so greenish humanoids running out onto the streets with cars cutting them off on parallel streets. Gun fire erupted on the streets as civilians ran away from the terrorist and Russians. Dima popped out from the building with two other teammates. Seeing a fleeing courier, they ran after the sixteen men with three splitting out each time to cover their escape.

"Flint, we got GIGN coming into play. ETA is thirty seconds with a Marine Detachment inbound ten mikes." Jorge reported as the gun fire drew away any potential collateral damage from the streets.

"Reaper, Reaper, this is Kiril from Dima's fireteam! We need CAS support now!" The Russian SpecOps yelled, the team of three running up a road filled with enemies and now the French GIGN.

"Miki, get me visual on the team and lock them on the ATFLIR." I ordered buzzing over the road at over seven hundred kilometer per hour.

"Roger that locking them up now." Michelle replied, the ATLFIR pod scanning up on my right MCFD.

"Two, kick out wide and provide overwatch." I ordered to Jorge seeing him bank right and peel out into the clear sky.

"Roger that Lead, going to overwatch position." Jorge replied flying two thousand feet higher and five miles away from me.

"We need that support now!" Kiril yelled into the radio with gun fire zipping around them in the background.

"Copy that, we're rolling in now." I stated pulling back the throttle to slow the aircraft down for the shallow dive.

"Here we go." I grunted, flicking a switch to arm the weapons and pulled back the stick.

Three Gs felt like sacks of potatoes covering your body. You would not want to stay in seven Gs for more than a few seconds. The F/A-18F's nose rose sharply before I quickly slammed the stick right and pulled back. A quick barrel roll and a dive towards the ground. Paper sheet like opaque dense clouds formed on the LEX of the aircraft next to my seat as I pulled the nose right at the small diamond marker on the HUD, marking the three Russians. Another roll righted the aircraft as I leaned forward to the HUD. A millimeter of difference between the diamond and the small gun piper could mean at least fifteen meters off target, that was a lot and an error I couldn't afford. I tapped the left MCFD and selected the M61 twenty millimeter Vulcan cannon. A small circle with a dot appeared on the HUD with a smaller band on the edges of the circle marking range. The altitude tape quickly dropped from thirty thousand feet to twenty five. I heard nothing and felt nothing except for the knot in my stomach and the growling of the engines as we broke the sound barrier. The aircraft started to shake and vibrate, the single three hundred and thirty gallon fuel tank wiggling in it's hard point from the speed. My hand pushed a button on the HOTAS (Hands On Throttle And Stick) throttle and felt my body being pushed forward. The brakes activated with the rudders on the vertical stabilizers folding in to trap air. We were coming in fast and descended like an arrow. They were mixed in with GIGN, terrorist and civilians one wrong trigger pull and collateral damage would be taken to a whole new level. I checked the right MCFD to see the three Russians running after the terrorist only to be halted by GIGN agents dismounting a black van. A small shift to the stick made the piper hover over the diamond by a hair's width. Thirteen thousand feet. The city building was now the size of a small candy bar, the cars now visible and looked less like insects. Eight thousand feet. The outside band of the reticule started to shrink and under it was the number: 3.2. 3.2 miles from the gun barrel to the road, the Hornet's computer doing measurements and calculations within milliseconds. Five thousand feet. Exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale...pause. I squeezed the Hornet's trigger. A loud buzz accompanied by a violent vibration shook the aircraft. _Buzzzzzzz... _The attack run was complete. I slammed the throttle forward and retracted the brakes. The sound of the roaring engines was once again rumbling in the cockpit. I pulled the stick back and the nose pitched up rapidly towards the blue sky, pulling seven Gs. A groan escaped my mouth. It felt like an elephant was sitting on my body. The climb placed me back at twenty eight thousand feet and the fuel burning faster than a dozen Lamborghini could at top speed. I pulled the throttle back to eighty percent and banked right, swinging back for another run.

"Reaper, I need a BDA (Battle Damage Assessment)." I ordered looking back and seeing the bullets splatter the ground with explosive rounds.

"Good hits, good hits! No civilians or French military kills, all separatists!" Kiril answered back as I cruised back up to thirty thousand and was now orienting myself for another attack run.

"Coming in for another attack run." I reported seeing the three split up, one propped up against the wall while the other two chased the courier up the steps to a metro station.

"Coming in from the East to line up with the stairs." I grunted swinging the aircraft left.

"What the-?" Jorge started just to be cut off by a bright flash of light.

I squinted and looked to the right with a hand blocking the flash. Even with the polarized lens of the HUD and black sun filter, it was too bright too to like. Just like the sun. The flash disappeared as a giant mushroom cloud shot up into the sky. A black ring forming around the monotone body of the mushroom. There was a wall of some sort expanding from the epicenter and it was expanding towards me. Shit. Before I could do anything, the blast buffeted the aircraft sending us flying into the air. A second more violent blast shorted out the electrical systems with an EMP (Electromagnetic Pulse) pulse. The aircraft was shielded from the pulse but would require and whole restart. That would mean no oxygen until the bleed air from the engines were restored. I pulled my mask off breathing in nothing. Oxygen was running out and fast. The aircraft stalled in mid-air and started to tumble. Green text and lines on the HUD started to flicker and soon died. My hands were running all over the instrument panel before something caught my eye. A black plume of smoke slowly expanded from the epicenter like a blanket of darkness. This was going to be a nuclear fallout. The electricity was shut off, block-by-block down below us in the French metropolis. Civilians ran away from the giant mushroom cloud in fear. It was at least a good fifty miles away from me and obliterated most of the metro tracks around the area. My guess was that the bomb was being sent in by train and exploded when Dima's team found the courier. The F/A-18F was out of power and out of control. Soon, it started to enter a flat spin. The blue and black sky turned into a blur. My hands started the engine. A low growl coming from the two enhanced performance engines. I looked down at the instrument panel to negate the dizziness I was feeling from looking. I glanced at the rearview mirror and saw a panicked look on Michelle's face accompanied by quick breathing, she was asphyxiating. The engines spooled up to fifty percent. Not fast enough, Michelle was on the verge of suffocation. Electrical power came on at fifty-five along with hydraulics to control the stabilizers and flaps. I looked up at the HUD and saw the symbology blink back into life. Michelle's eyes started to roll back into her head and her hands gripping her neck. I started to feel light headed. Seventy percent RPM, everything was back online. I flicked the oxygen to on. My hands scrambling to secure the mask back on to the helmet. With a click, I started to breathe. Dear god, I almost lost it. I saw Michelle slumped over at her station. I would have said something but I was too busy trying to get oxygen.

"Miki..." I whispered, panting and trying to right the tumbling aircraft.

"Miki." I said again shaking the flight stick left and right, feeling the aircraft slowly pitching it's nose down.

"Michelle!" I screamed seeing her jolt back to life, her chest heaving for air.

"Are you okay?" I asked feeling the aircraft stabilize and resume flight.

"Yeah..." She replied nodding and holding onto a small handrail on the frame of the canopy.

"Reaper One to all callsigns, report." I ordered bringing the nose of the aircraft back to the artificial horizon.

"Reaper One, report." I repeated feeling a small pit in the stomach from losing Elf and Jorge.

"Two, right with ya." Jorge swallowed as I saw his bird rise from below me to join the formation.

"Goddamn Two, I thought I lost the both of you." I replied seeing the two men laugh.

"Your not going to get rid of us that easily right - bzzzzzz..." The radio scuttled from interference before becoming normal once more.

"Joker Actual to all callsigns report!" The commander coughed as his battalion reported in, from my count, five were missing.

"Saber, Dagger, Longsword, Dragon, Wolf report over. I repeat, report your status over!" The commander screamed into the COMs, a long silence ensued afterward until a voice spoke up.

"Saber, we have received massive casualties from the bomb. Send HAZMAT teams here now, most of my men and my safe are..." The transmission paused as the platoon commander puked.

"Saber, HAZMAT is enroute, stay put." The commander assured, blips appearing on my radar from two hundred miles out.

"Warhorse Actual here, we've lost Dragon and Dagger platoons. The nuke vaporized them with a block of the city sir." Another man reported, a sigh coming from the commander.

"All forces pull back to the staging area. We're going to leave this one to the Joint Task Force commanders." The commander ordered, his voice warbled in the transmission.

"Kilo Five-Three, Reaper One, enemy hostiles inbound bearing right zero two zero from your heading, two hundred miles out and closing." The AWACS reported as I nodded banking right.

"Origin, affiliation and size?" I asked flipping up the darkened visor, not needing it after the nuke cloud blocked the sun.

"Working on it." The AWACS replied.

I looked down at the city. Damn, it looked like Chernobyl. After a few minutes after the explosion, the city was completely devoid of life. Those who didn't survive was on the streets. Those who did, were probably diagnosed with radiation sickness and cancer. For hundreds of years, this place will become the next nuclear winter ridden zone with no one ever going to settle back down. My IFF interceptor rang. Some aircraft from beyond the mushroom and the dark clouds was seeing if I was friendly or not. The IFF interceptor flagged the enemy as a SU-35S. A Russian fighter jet operated only by Russia with export versions in India and Iran. My hands went into overdrive. Selecting the AIM-120 AMRAMM (Advanced Medium Range Air-to-Air Missile) on the left MCFD and switching the right MCFD to radar. With the radar in TWS (Track While Scan) mode, I could tack at least six targets at once while maintaining my situational awareness. The symbology on the HUD changed to a large circle with a small bar on the right, next to the speed tape to indicate range. The IFF pinged again. I locked up the closest two targets. My IFF pinged him this time with the radar. Confirmed bogey. I looked up at Jorge and gave him a manual hand signal. I flashed him five fingers five times, twenty five possible bogeys. He nodded understanding the signal. I then punched my left fist out and flashed him two fingers. Punch out wide, two miles. He nodded before banking his aircraft left, the belly of the beast shown to me. Fuel was still good. Twelve thousand pounds of fuel with the central tank empty. If they fire on us, the tank goes bye-bye.

"Reaper One, be advised, enemy possible bogey. They fire, you have clearance to initiate combat with them. Six flights from the George Bush will be joining you in fifty minutes. You think you can hold out?" The AWACS asked, the five selected contacts getting closer.

"I'm not a Marine for nothing." I replied looking at the square TD (Target Designator) box move slightly behind the cloud.

"Roger that, we'll keep you updated over." Kilo Three-Five stated before going radio silent.

"Miki, ready for some high G combat?" I asked looking back at the female WSO.

"After that little stunt, I'm not sure I'm ready for anything." Miki replied as I chuckled.

A series of beeps and growls blared in my headset. Several 35s popped up on the HUD pointing to the radar sources. This is something I never want to hear. I waited a few seconds and switched the oxygen system to one hundred percent pure oxygen. Who wants to breathed radiated and tainted air? I pushed the S-J (Safe-Jettison) button on the MCFD and then the three hundred thirty gallon fuel tank. The beeps and growls turned into a loud annoying continuous beep. Missile launch popped up on a small warning light mounted on the upper left of the canopy. Shit. My left hand pushed the throttle forward and pressed a button on the HOTAS. Pops and thumps rumbled the aircraft and ejected out the rear. I looked back seeing glowing orange orbs of flares and strips of aluminum fly out the back as a decoy. The speed quickly rose and skipped up from three hundred knots. Still no missile in sight. Seconds later, five orange wisps punched through the black disappointing mushroom cloud. Then four more. The missiles were less than five minutes away from blowing me up. I dumped more chaff and flares, jamming the stick right. The aircraft went inverted and the blood rushed to my head as I pulled hard down. My thumb pressed the pickle button and the fuel tank dropped from the center line hard point and into the sky. Funnily enough, the tank dropped faster than I did. I oriented the canopy to the big smoke stack, I looked up to see the missiles tracking me. These were the R-77 Archer missiles or as the Western press liked to nickname it, Amrammski or what I would like to call it, a pain in my ass. Big, fast and not entirely maneuverable. The missiles streaked towards the flares and chaff as I disappeared below the black cloud. The sight was terrifying and eerie. Black skies blocked out all sunlight and I had to revert to my FLIR (Forward Looking Infrared) on the helmet. It was dark as night and the skies absorbed all forms of light. Snow seemed to cling onto my canopy. I soon discovered that it wasn't snow but soot from the nuclear blast. The FLIR flashed into a greenish and grainy tint on my visor, showing what my eyes could not see in the darkness. Entire cities were abandoned, people died on in their cars and getting out of them, worse was the falling nuclear snow. The temperature dropped dramatically after the blast, from a normal thirty down to ten and still dropping. Behind me, the missiles exploded after traveling through the heated smoke, its programing not accounting for a nuclear storm. The Russian fighters scanning their radar through the cloud layer would see nothing but a blank screen. Combined with the ground clutter and the smoke, it was like sifting through white static noise. Multiple explosions behind me signaled that all the missiles failed to track. I pushed the throttle up to afterburner and pulled the stick back into a steep climb. The strike-fighter accelerated through the black cloud. Only black was seen as it blanketed the entire aircraft. The oxygen was holding fine. Switching back from FLIR to polarized visor, we broke through the cloud layer. It was a sight to behold alright. Hundreds of transport aircraft mixed with fighters soared over the sky dropping Russian forces. I looked up and just narrowly missed a skydiving Russian soldier. He whizzed by the canopy like a small insect would do to a windshield in a car. Missile locks blared in my cockpit. This was not a good day.

"Missile launch high, five o'clock!" Michelle yelled as I saw the small puff of smoke.

"Remembering your vocabulary huh?" I grunted pulling straight up and turning on the ECM (Electronic Countermeasure).

"Fuck!" I cursed the airspeed dropping to sharply for my pleasure, the extra weight on the aircraft was killing it.

"Here we..." I whispered pulling over the top of the climb, my head smacking into the canopy.

"...go!" I yelled seeing the black smoke below me.

"Chaff, flare, chaff, flare." The aircraft's voice known as Bitching Betty warned.

"Come on..." I whispered heading back towards the dark clouds.

Out of one hundred and twenty I originally had in the flare and chaff pods, each were down to their last fifty. I had to use the clouds to my advantage along with the heavy weight of the Russian fighter. My left hand slammed the throttle back to conserve fuel and let gravity drag the twenty three ton aircraft towards the ground. The beeping continued to blare in my headset. I looked back seeing three barely visible smoke puffs trailing after the aircraft's exhaust. The missiles were accelerating down to Earth just above Mach 2.5, I just hit Mach 1.3. The smoke loomed to meet me. I pulled hard back on the stick and felt seven Gs load onto my body. Metal groaned and the sheets of air formed on the LEX. The missiles curved to meet me as I pulled up. Fuck, fuck, fuck! My speed dropped, the missiles exploding behind me. I expected to be fireball in the sky right now. Looking back, my saw the aircraft skimmed so low to the clouds, they seemed to just suck the top part of the blob in.

"Two, engaged defensive in a midst of fighters." Jorge groaned, he was fives miles behind me and to the right.

"Roger that, One is re-engaging." I reported and placed the aircraft into a steep climb.

"Reaper One, this is Boar One, we are three minutes away, hang in there." A female voice squawked on the radio.

I ignored the transmission and focused on Jorge. He was stuck between eight SU-35S and was pumping out chaff and flare like a garden hose. It was like a little ball of death with SU-35Ss flying around him in circles. I locked up one target with JMHCS and switched to AIM-9X Sidewinders for close range combat. The missile tone growled in my ear before becoming a high-pitched whine. A small little TD diamond hovered over the SU-35S's exhaust. My thumb was hover over the pickle button as we approached the furball which was a clusterfuck of aircraft. I joined the fight. Banking left I cut off a SU-35S chasing after Jorge, backing up who seemed to be like the commander of the group with a red star on his left side of the cockpit. My helmet kept a steady lock on the Russian fighter, the aircraft turning as tight as it can to position itself on its six. The missile was locked on at thirty degrees off bore.

"Two, break right in three...two..." I said out of the blue with my eyes locked on the black, white and gray splinter camouflaged aircraft.

"Wait, what's the plan?" Jorge said with confusion.

"...one, fox two!" I yelled into the radio seeing the missile streak out from the wingtip and soar towards the jet.

"That plan!" Jorge grunted initiating a quick right turn.

The missile turned after the SU-35S and exploded into the rear of the two engines. Black liquid turned into flames and the aircraft just dropped from the sky.

"Splash one!" I called out seeing Miki looking behind us.

"We've got incoming two Russian jets!" Miki reported as I looked back seeing the jets maneuver down from above.

"Let's go below the deck." I suggested to Jorge who nodded from the left side of the aircraft.

We inverted the Hornet and dived straight down towards the clouds. The both of us leveled out for a ten degree nose dive. Soon we were inside the black sea of darkness. Light turned to twilight and only the instruments lit up the inside of the cockpit with an eerie green. It looked darker for some reason too. Then I realized it was the polarized visor lens. I switched up the lens and activated the FLIR. A grainy green video feed popped up with the HUD in bright green. The shaking of the aircraft scared me, it was not the cloud but the ground. It had a PK or Probability of Kill: 1, instant death. We flew out of the dark cloud and into nuclear fallout Paris. I looked to Jorge and rotated my whole left arm. Regroup. We flew close to the ground and used the gray, two-tone camouflage paint to get us the edge. I felt the ambient air temperature dropped rapidly. The clouds had done a great of job in creating another ice age in France. I pulled back the throttle and drifted on wind power. A beep drew me to the radar. The IRIS-T had locked up onto something and the radar reverted to TBD (Track before Detect) mode. I looked up at the small green TD box on the JHMCS's HUD and zoomed in digitally. The FLIR image being projected onto the orange visor enlarged to display four shapes flying in the darkness with their lights on. I looked to Jorge and pressed a button on the radar, sending him the coordinates of the fighters. The MIDS-JTRS (Multifunctional Information Distribution System-Joint Tactical Radio System) sent the information to Jorge's F/A-18F past a high frequency radio channel invulnerable to the radiation's jamming effects. Jorge locked up another target, the radar displaying his selection.

"Two, push on my command." I ordered into the radio, switching to a secure channel.

"Ro- that..." The radio was on the fritz underneath the clouds, possibly from the EMP bursts the bomb gave out.

"Two..." I started selecting the AIM-120D.

"...push, push, push." I repeated three times before pickling the weapon.

A missile rocketed off the right wing of my aircraft, streaking into the darkness. Like an orange orb of light, it surged forward towards the shape at Mach three. The four shapes banked right and tried to defeat the missile in a turning fight while pumping out chaff. We darted in like sharks hunting seals. I looked up seeing the SU-35Ss turn above us towards our right. My left hand pushed the throttle forward while my right pulled the stick towards me. Our nose pitched up towards the clouds. Banking left, I mimicked the Russians. We slowly rolled into the turning aircraft. Two small streaks of white light impacted the four dark shapes. White light exploded and illuminated the green of the FLIR, temporarily blinding me. Flipping the orange visor up, I did what the Israeli's called looking out of the box. I scanned the dark skies visually for the enemy. Shapes skirted beneath me. I pulled my visor back down to see two jets crossing underneath and climbing off to my right wing. One was Jorge's F/A-18F while the other an enemy SU-35. Where was the other one? I continued to fly straight and level before banking left and breaking away from the two's dance for life. Specks of white light lit up my cockpit for just a split second.

"Missile launch, seven o'clock low!" Michelle screamed into my ear as I looked back and below me.

"How in the world?" I grunted, jerking the stick left and dropping flares.

Orbs of white light fizzled from behind my jet, leaving clouds of white behind as they drifted slowly towards the ground. One streak of light arced towards me. It was heading straight for the Hornet – and fast. I continued the turn until the missile was within visual distance. I could see the long cylindrical structure of it. A small glass dome at the front held the seeker, which was trained on my aircraft's exhaust. Two pairs of fins on the front and two pairs of fins on the back. The rocket motor had turned off and it was now relying on its own kinetic energy to deliver it to me. I gripped the stick with both hands and nestled it into the ejection seat. Seven Gs and a half ticked on the G meter. Another groan escaped my mouth as a bright light followed by the sound of an explosion lit up the cockpit. _Bang_. The shrapnel rained into the aircraft's thick skin like hail hitting the shingles of the roof. Titanium construction mixed with aluminum protected me from the pieces of metal the size of my fist. I leveled out to gain some lost speed from the turn. Looking back, I spotted the SU-35S rolling into pursuit. This was going to be one hell of a thriller. I felt the adrenaline rush into my body as I placed the aircraft into dogfight mode. The gun piper along with the diamond TD for the AIM-9X Sidewinders popped up on the HUD. I made the first move. Turning right, I forced the heavier aircraft to keep its nose pointed behind me. Being more power and maneuverable, the SU-35S easily kept up with me. The only thing only it back was its weight – its nose dipped towards the ground as rudder input kept it on track. I reversed the turn and kept straining the SU-35S. Whatever I did, it was easily keeping up with me. Time for a daring maneuver. I pressed the button on the HOTAS and felt my body being slightly pushed forward. Leveling out, I pulled the Hornet's nose up to a thirty degree nose climb. The only catch was – I wasn't climbing. The Hornet slowly lost speed and sailed on the air at one hundred and fifty knots, just above one hundred miles an hour. The Russian jet was too close to fire its guns or launch any of it missiles. It had to do the same maneuver to keep behind me.

"What are you doing? You're going to get us killed!" Michelle yelled in my ears as the Russian jet pitched its nose up.

"Trust me." I stated looking back and seeing the giant belly of the twin engined beast.

"You only flew this thing once!" Michelle screamed back as the Russian jet slowly got closer to us.

"Just let me fly the aircraft!" I yelled hearing the roar of the SU-35S in my helmet.

The jet was flying just right of the F/A-18F and tried to slow down. Its weight worked against itself as it past us in a roar of jet fury. I saw the pilot next to me. He looked at me. On his head a green tinted helmet in the FLIR and his visor down. The Russians also had their own JHMCS and was used in conjunction with their IRIS-T bulb mounted on the front of the jet's canopy. He glared at me through his black visor and I stared back at him with my orange one. Time slowed to a stand still as I saw his hand pulling back on his flight stick. He was going to stall. A loud, quick and annoying beep blared in my ears with the words 'STALL' blinking on the HUD. The airspeed dropped below one hundred and fifty. A small shift in the throttle fixed the problem. Without more thrust the airframe would lose lift and plummet to the ground like a rock until it gathered enough speed to glide. The SU-35S started to sink into the ground, my eyes tracking him as he did. I mimicked him. He pitched his nose down and so did I. The two of us looked like diving dolphins below the sea, my aircraft sticking to his behind like glue. My helmet targeted the diamond at the exhaust of the SU-35S, the whine of the Sidewinder loud in my headset. Five hundred feet between us. That wasn't a lot of space. My only question was, would the sidewinder arm in time? I took a chance and pressed the pickle button. _Thump._ The Sidewinder launched off my wingtip in a flash of white light that illuminated the cockpit and the jet in front. I watched intently as the missile tracked the exhaust of the Russian jet. The missile lodged itself into the right engine of the SU-35 failing to explode. It stuck out of the exhaust petals like a tree in the middle of a giant plain. The Sidewinder's fuse failed to arm in the seconds it took to jam itself in the engine. It's pilot banked the SU-35 left and tried to shake me from its six but then something majestic occurred. The missile exploded from the quick heating of the engine. It looked like an implosion from under the water. Explosives housed in the missile ignited from the heat and sprayed the shrapnel into the right engine. A thick plume of smoke blocked out light from the FLIR pod. The IRIS-T was blocked out and failed to identify the target. Heated smoke from the right engine made the diamond TD dance all over the HUD. Only guns would be accurate now. Flames licked the smoke and gave the green tint of the FLIR a whitish glare. The FLIR cleared up as I saw nothing but the city in front of me.

"Where did he go?" I asked Michelle, looking everywhere from the enemy.

"I don't know..." She replied as I saw her looking around in her backseat.

"Did the IRIS-T get anything?" Michelle asked, pressing something on the backseat.

"Nothing." I replied and banking the aircraft left.

"Wait, I have something on the ATFLIR." Michelle whispered as I looked at my right MCFD.

One bright, white shape, the exact replica of the damaged SU-35S flew below us and close to the ground. He had no chance at escaping the nuclear wasteland. Miles away from us were the bright lands of the countryside. I flew down and leveled with the SU-35S. The pilot looked up seeing me fly next to him. I tried to find the channel the Russian pilot was using. He gave me a short nod seeing as I was not about to shoot him down.

"Josh what are you doing?" Michelle asked seeing the SU-35S slowly drift closer and closer towards the ground.

"Trying to fly him out of the blackout zone." I stated seeing the countryside slowly growing closer.

"But he's the enemy!" Michelle replied, I saw her reasoning but no one should ever die in a nuclear wasteland.

"No one should die a horrible death in the nuclear zone." I whispered shifting the stick left and inching the jet closer to the Russian's aircraft.

"Can you hear me Russian?" I asked looking to the pilot.

"Yes...ski...breaking..." The sentences came in short broken sentences.

"Miki, boost the radio power and broadcast on plus and minus ten megahertz." I ordered seeing the CIA agent hesitate before tapping the buttons at her station.

"Americanski?" The pilot asked as we neared within fifty miles of the countryside.

"I can hear you." I replied seeing the wing of the Russian aircraft fall onto mine, the combined lift from my aircraft keeping him a float.

"It's a surprise seeing that you're not going to shoot me down." He gave me a small chuckle and flipped up his visor.

"I'm not like every Communist hating American out there." I replied, giving the stick a small pull to keep the both of us in the air.

"So why are you fighting in this government fueled war? Is it patriotism, hatred or the dream of being the best pilot?" The Russian asked as his aircraft slightly dipped from a strong headwind.

"Actually none. I'm fighting for my comrades." I stated.

"Comrade? Hard to find those being an officer. Most do it for fame and glory." He whispered back and looked back down at his instruments.

"What's your name Americanski?" He asked with a tone of resignation.

"Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint, 1st MARSOC Battalion." I replied with a smile.

"Well you're a ground eater, eh? I'm Alexei Tsiolkovsky from the 58th Air Battalion." He replied, the stabilizers on his right wing flapping uncontrollably.

"Nice to meet you Alexei. You're going to get out of the blackout zone, alright?" I assured, apply force into the stick to keep his wings level.

"Do not lie to me, American. I can see that I'm not going to make it. The right wing is torn and my right engine is threatening to destroy my left one." He snapped back as we slowly cruised towards the clear lands, the SU-35S slowly dipping towards the ground.

"It's better than being in that shithole of a country. The Air Force barely paid me enough money to survive on my own, let alone support a family." Alexei whispered after a short pause, the SU-35S hitting a patch of turbulence and pitched down dangerously towards the ground.

"Fuck!" I cursed, seeing the wingtip of the SU-35S sparking against the grey camouflage of the F/A-18F.

"I told you Flint, I'm going to die anyways. There is nothing you can do." Alexei replied, Jorge swinging his aircraft down from above and forming up on the Russian fighter's left side.

"What are you trying to do Staff Sergeant?" Jorge asked from looking at me from behind the giant jet.

"Saving a fellow warrior, you in or out?" I said with a hidden smile.

"What do you think Sergeant?" Jorge replied, chuckling as he maneuvered the jet to support the SU-35S's left wing.

"Alexei, are you at military power?" I asked easing the flight stick so that the air from my aircraft's wings are lifting his aircraft.

"Negative. If I go above eighty the left engine will overheat." Alexei answered trying to balance his jet while two different air currents ran through his left and right wingtip.

"Can switch your air source to ram and push it all the way up to military power? At least that way we'll get this jet out of the blackout zone. We don't need it after that." I stated hearing the roar of his engines become louder.

"Da. It's working – in buying a little bit of time at least." He replied in a more hopeful tone.

My aircraft started to shudder uncontrollably. I looked around the cockpit checking the MCFDs and HUD, along with the warning lights. We exceeded three hundred knots. Studying aeronautics to fly the F/A-18F for two years, I finally understood the problem. Air pressure built up on the wingtips of the aircraft and threatened to roll the aircraft over on its belly. The green hills of the countryside beckoned to us while the skies above us were covered with black, rolling clouds like a sea of darkness. I slid the orange visor back up and squinted as my eyes adjusted to the sudden bright light. Less than twenty miles to go. My left hand pushed up the throttle to catch up with the Russian jet. I pushed even harder to keep the stick at the right. Soon we were breaking within ten miles near the border of the blackout zone, our speed exceeding four hundred and twenty. I pitched down and slid right, away from Alexei's SU-35S. I felt heat beating down on me. My eyes burned with bright white light. We were out of the nuclear zone. I looked left seeing the Russian jet slowly glide over to the green hillside. It looked like he was going to crash land in some poor, French farmer's farm. His left engine sparked, flames exploding out the exhaust. The aircraft dropped from the loss of lift. Its stabilizers on the wing flapping in the air from no electrical power. An explosion ripped the SU-35S's fuselage. Orange flames turning the splinter camouflage into pieces of scrap metal. Pieces of the wing cascaded like leaves blowing in the wind. Metal pierced the soil below and burned the area around the green grass with hydraulic fluid and oil. Black, burning liquid tainted the innocent, green grass. The engines turned into metal fragments and drizzled down like hail onto the farm. Missiles dropped from the wings, armed and exploded on the ground, leaving smoldering craters. Alexei's cockpit tumbled end over end towards the ground. It exploded on the wheat field covering hundreds of acres. I looked away hearing the muffled _bang_. Silence took over the aircraft with odd bursts of transmission from the AWACS to the approaching aircraft. Something called from the radio. Someone familiar.

"American, American, can you hear me?" A static filled broadcast filled my headset.

"Alexei?" I asked looking over to the farm.

"Yes. Did I scare to American?" He replied with a small laugh, his parachute floating above the wreckage of his aircraft.

"Fucking hell man. Next time you eject, tell me about it." I stated and banked left.

"I thank you for helping me out of the nuclear fallout. I will never forget this!" He yelled and waved at me from his parachute.

"Don't worry, just live." I replied, pulling the stick towards me and started to climb.

I leveled off at twenty thousand feet, slicing back towards the now dissipating mushroom cloud. Hundreds of fighter jets, transport aircraft and helicopters flew against dozens of French and American fighters. The two forces looked like the old medieval armies rushing against each other with brandished lances and swords. Except this time it was guns and missiles. The two forces were more than two hundred miles away from other and closed faster than one could blink. I tapped the left MFCD and brought up the SMS (Stores Management System) page. Selecting the my last three AIM-120D missiles, I targeted the nearest fighters. MIG-35s and SU-35S Flankers were selected on my AESA (Active Electronically Scanned Array) radar. It seemed like they weren't aware of the targeting as all of the jets were being targeted by the opposition. My left hand pushed the throttle up all to full military power. We started to close range with the fighters. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw Michelle looking down at the instruments, the three green displays reflecting off of her visor. Flipping down the orange visor, the HUD blinked back to life.

"Josh, we have stealth aircraft in the mix." Michelle suddenly warned.

"What? What do you mean 'stealth aircraft'?" I asked seeing the caret on the missile range indicator.

"I don't know but the radar's getting interference an unknown source." Michelle replied as the radar screen scuttled with static.

"Okay now my radar's acting up." I grunted, tapping the EWS (Electronic Warfare System) panel.

"Wait, I see two shapes flying at the left of the formation closest to us." Michelle notified me to two dark shapes flying at the forefront of the formation.

The shapes had a bubble canopy, large wings and rectangular vertical stabilizers that were angled. It flew in front of all the fighters in the entire formation. I changed the radar screen to the target pod and slewed the seeker to the shapes. It was grey against the pitch black of the sky, the ATFLIR detected the heat and displayed it back in either black or white depending on the setting. Jammers worked great from a distance but faltered when it was at close range. Like a hurricane, outside the eye were strong winds while in the center, the eye was still with no wind at all. We closed at fifteen miles, Jorge had split from the formation and was attacking from the flank. The radar had cut through the jammers and the missiles had a lock. Those fighters, I just realized were the new Russian Air Force's PAK FA fighters. After a year of delay, they were finally released with all of their features. Unlike the F-22 Raptors, any military with enough money to buy them had it in their inventory. It was surely better than the piece of shit J-12 Chinese fighter. The piece of metal junk flew like a sluggish whale but had the electronics of a supercomputer. Whatever the Chinese built, it out-jammed most of our aircraft. The circle indicated if we were in range had widened and was blinking, one of the three lights mounted on the top right frame of the canopy blinked on with the letters 'SHOOT' in big green letters. I pushed the pickle button three times, each time Michelle locked onto another target. Each time the missiles launched with a _thump_. Three trails of white smoke soared high into the sky. At the bottom right of the HUD there was a a sequence of letters and numbers indicating the missile's mode. T05, Terminal Zero Five Seconds. Five seconds until the missiles activate their seekers and no longer need guidance from the F/A-18F's radar. A15, Autonomous Fifteen Seconds. The missile switched to its internal navigation and homing systems with fifteen seconds until impact of the target. 35s popped up on my HUD outlining the targeting fighters. Small little oranges bloomed in the distance, fighters exploding from the missiles. Direct hits. I grabbed onto the rail with my left hand and banked right. Weight piled up on my body, the G meter ticking up to five Gs. I felt like another body was sitting on me and weighing me down.

"Boar One to Reaper One, we are in the zone. I repeat we are in the zone!" A female voice yelled in my headset.

"Copy that Boar One, we are flying into the formation. I repeat we are flying into allied formation." I stated, taking a quick glance to my right to see Jorge flying into formation.

"Reaper One, you are in the kill box. I repeat, you are in the kill box! Get out of there Reaper One!" The female voice screamed in my ears.

Missile launch blinked on my HUD. I slammed the throttle forward and heard the giant roar of the twin engines going into afterburners. I looked out seeing the clouds rumble by, below me. Alarms blared in my ears as we soared above twenty five thousand feet. Looking up at the rearview mirror, I saw four streams of white smoke trailing out from four cylindrical shapes blurring from speed behind the vertical stabilizers of my aircraft. With a flick of the flight stick, I inverted the aircraft and pulled back hard on the flight stick. The aircraft dived and increased in speed. Blood rushed into my head from being upside down, my head being pushed into the seat from the acceleration. The missiles continued to chase after me. I pressed a button on the HOTAS to release chaffs and flare. Pops exploded from the aircraft, the fizzling of the flares weren't even heard as the aircraft traveled far too fast to make out the noise. I flipped the aircraft over and placed the aircraft back into a climb. My eyes widened. Hundreds of smoke trails whizzed towards me. The allied aircraft opened fire and so did the Russians. I pulled the aircraft into a hard yo-yo maneuver. The aircraft strained as I balanced the aircraft between a stall and an overshoot, I looked back seeing the wings flexing. I felt the adrenaline rush through me. The flash of white zipped through the top of my canopy, it was a missile of British origins. The Meteor MDBA missile developed by Britain replaced all other missiles in the European Arsenal. I resumed normal flight just to find hundreds of Rafale fighters, Mirage interceptors and F/A-18E strike fighters thundering towards us. Looking at them, they whizzed by like angry bees. I sighed. Finally a moment of peace.

"Reaper One to Kilo Three-Five, I'm Joker fuel and out of ammunition, requesting permission to return to base." I whispered into the radio stabilizing at thirty thousand feet and flying at three hundred and fifty knots to save fuel.

"Roger that Reaper One, you have permission to return to base. Good job, you deserve a rest." Kilo Three-Five's aircraft coordinator replied.

"You okay Staff Sergeant?" Jorge asked sailing on the wind off the right side of my wing.

"You know what? You guys seem to be asking that question a lot in these last few months." I said with a small chuckle and received a worried look from Michelle.

"I'm starting to get slightly worried, Josh." Michelle commented flipping up her orangish visor.

"No I'm fine...just tired that's all." I whispered and placed the aircraft on autopilot.

Silence seized the flight home. The rumbling of the engines and the muffled blowing of the wind lulled me into a trance. Light shined at me from the mid-noon sun. It was already half a day from flying, six hours in a seat without moving. This might be what pilots felt like when they were drained of energy, flying home. Drained of energy and tired out of their minds. I felt the same. I looked down at a small LCD screen just above my left knee. Four thousand pounds of fuel left inside the aircraft, just enough to get home. Unbuckling the oxygen mask, I inhaled a deep breath untainted by stale oxygen and the aftertaste of warm milk. I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. Stress lines were slightly visible on my forehead and heavy bags formed under my eyes. My green eyes looked dull with long years of battle. I wiped my eyes and face. We were forty miles away from the carrier. On my thighs were notebooks strapped to my flight suit. Flipping through the pages, I found the code for the ILS or Instrumental Landing System. I tapped the number on the UCP.

"Tower, Reaper One, we are thirty miles out and inbound for landing." I reported to the carrier thirty thousand feet below.

"Reaper One, Tower, you are number one to land. Take spacing and be prepared for vectors to the carrier." A male voice replied.

"Roger that." I stated looking to Jorge as he banked off to follow traffic procedures.

"Drop down to two thousand feet and maintain two hundred and thirty knots, turn right heading one three five degrees." The Aircraft Traffic Controller ordered, I complied and pushed the flight stick forward.

The aircraft shuddered from the negative Gs. Below us were grey clouds full of rainstorms. It was going to be one bitch to land this aircraft. I buckled the oxygen mask back into the mask and flipped down the orange visor. We breached into the clouds, the darkness once again taking over the cockpit. At least the temperature didn't drop dramatically. I flicked on the anti-collision and formation lights. Red and green blinked on the wings of the aircraft and slightly illuminated the inside. I pulled up at two thousand feet, not trusting my eyes. I turned right and waited for further instruction. My eyes scanning the horizon for the carrier and its battle group. Nothing except for the howling of the wind and the crackling of heavy rain against the canopy. It was pitch black outside, nothing was visible. Neon green from the left MFCD and the white from the right MFCD illuminated the inside of the cockpit, reflecting off the canopy with an eerie reassurance. I tapped the UCP and selected the ILS/NAV mode for the landing. A cross popped up on screen with one being pitch and the other heading. The tower vectored me in for a Case III recovery – heavy rain or bad weather. I banked left and lined up the ILS bars until they were a perfect cross, then continued to wait for lights. Seconds later, white lights shown through the darkness in the distance.

"Reaper One, Tower, you are three quarters of the mile – call the ball." The ATC ordered as the cluster of lights slowly separated into coherent groups.

"Roger Tower..." I started looking at the left of the ship to see a cluster of lights, the sides of it white and the middle green signaling a perfect approach.

"Reaper One rogers ball, state three point two." I replied, three thousand two hundred pounds of fuel left in my aircraft.

"Roger Reaper, you are on glideslope." The LSO (Landing Signal Officer) now took control of the communications.

He continued to call out the position of my aircraft in relation to a small camera installed on the flight deck. It showed the course of the aircraft to the third arresting wire of the carrier. If one caught or 'trapped' that wire, it would be an A+ of sorts in the naval scoreboard. A line of white lights led down the middle of the carrier's flight deck. Unknown to me, that was what I was aiming for. I flicked a switch and lowered the flaps to full along with activating the speed brakes with a button on the HOTAS. My right hand carefully shifted the stick to correct the course and my feet manipulated the rudders to battle the crosswind blowing at the aircraft. A small knot formed in my stomach as we neared the carrier, the lights becoming more spaced out and bright. I heard the LSO call for power. I pushed the throttle up. So far, so good. My head was pushed back into ejection seat from the ten degrees nose up. I trusted the ILS to point me in the right direction, along with the LSO. It felt like an eternity as I babied the aircraft. The lights became even brighter and I could make out the red orbs stuck to the stern of the carrier. Who ever aimed for that would strike the backside of the carrier and turn into a giant fireball. Any naval aviator who flew any sort of aircraft had to do night and day traps on the carrier. The minimum was eight days and four nights, I only had two. I saw a cluster of red and green lights in the darkness. It was the next wave of fighters that were going to be launched into the skies. The shape was similar to the F-35Cs that were just put into Low Rate Production. I felt a hard jolt and the _bang_ of the landing gears absorbing the shock of the landing. My head was thrown forward, only to be held in place with the harness. I pushed the throttle all the way forward and the roar of the twin engines turned the liquid rain into hissing steam. The afterburners were to make sure that I wouldn't smack into the sea if I didn't trap the arresting wires and had to fly around again which was called a 'bolter'. With the rapid deceleration coming to a halt, I pulled the throttle back and saw a pair of orange sticks waving to me in the darkness. I raised the arresting hook and placed pressure on the throttle. The F/A-18F eased forward. The orange sticks led me into line right behind the F-35Cs instead of the parking space at the far right of the entire carrier. Looking over the canopy, I saw a small freight elevator rise up from the inside of the ship with fresh munitions. On the rolling sea, red shirts pulled a trolley under my aircraft and mounted two AIM-120Ds onto the wing hardpoints. The F/A-18F had the capability to carry up to twelve missiles on dual pylons mounted onto each of the wings. Another crewmen heaved a giant hose along with three others and hooked it up to the underside of my aircraft. The small LCD screen reported increasing fuel.

"Air Boss, what's going on?" I asked the overseer of the entire air operation.

"You're going up again Sergeant, the Russians are trying to invade Germany and France from airbases throughout the satellite states." He explained as Jorge parked next to me, getting the same treatment.

"Lieutenant Hawkins will be your flight lead until your return at 0000 Hours tonight. I wish you luck." The Air Boss replied quickly as the jet blast deflectors raised to direct hot air from the F-35C's afterburner.

"Nice to see you again Sergeant, too bad I can't treat you to a beer." Lieutenant Hawkins said with a smile from my right, her aircraft ready to take off.

"It's going to be a long day Lieutenant, it's going to make that beer all the more worth it." I said sarcastically seeing the crew finish the quick rearming and refueling.

"We're number two to take off. Tell your friend to line up on CAT three." Lieutenant Hawkins ordered as I nodded, looking to Jorge and flashing him three fingers.

"How did you enjoy your flight, Flint?" Lieutenant Colbert asked from the front seat of his aircraft.

"A bit less action than I would like, but still great nonetheless." I replied seeing the F-35Cs jump from the deck and into the air.

"Well, it's no cake walk with the PAK FAs in the air." Lieutenant Colbert stated, the three of us easing forward onto the catapults.

"Nothing we can't handle." I scoffed at the thought of the Russian stealth fighters.

"I'm sure of it." Hawkins said, buckling her oxygen mask to her helmet.

I watched from the safety of my cockpit, seeing the men running in the rain to hook up the giant aircraft to the catapults. Their uniforms were soaked with water and their helmets glistening in the dim lights. The same yellow shirt looked up at my aircraft bored, even in the rain. I checked my stabilizers once again, making sure that the shrapnel from the missiles didn't do anything to damaging to the aircraft. Sure of the jet, I grabbed the rail mounted on the canopy and gave the shooter a salute. He looked around and then gave me a salute back. I looked at the lead aircraft and waited for the shooter to kneel down. He did and pointed out directly into the black hole ahead of us. There was a calm, a moment of tranquility before the storm. The rolling sea rocking us left and right, anyone with motion sickness would have just puked right then and there. The darkness of the sky and the pattering of rain against the canopy. I looked up at the mirror and saw Michelle tired from the day's ordeal. Her eyelids closed for the time being with the same heavy bags under her eyes. There would be more to come. She placed her hand on the visor and slid it back down. I sighed and looked back down at the HUD. A jolt shook the aircraft and flung my head back into the seat. The aircraft pitched up, taking to the sky. It was going to be another long flight, in another routinely long day.


	5. Side Story Chapter 1: Down, but not out

**Author's Note: I want to give a huge thanks to Anime Borat who's been pitching great ideas to me and along with everyone who's been reading and enjoying this story, they'll be many chapter's more. Now this is a side story I cooked up to show the events around the world after the nuclear blast in France. As always, if you enjoyed it, leave a review.**

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><p><span>Surviving Korea<span>

November 13th, 2014

Corporal David Giles

3rd Battalion, 1st Marines

Korean – Russian Border, United Korea

0335 Hours

The first shots had come from the dead of night. Russian soldiers started to advance through the Korean borders while raining artillery down on civilians. Communications were in disarray after the Russians jammed communications through portable radio noise emitters. We were still sleeping in our bunks at a former Army base at the 38th Latitude when North Korea and South Korea were different nations. A nuclear bomb had exploded in France and disrupted the electronic equipment in a one hundred mile radius. The Russians used that moment of disbelief to invade all of Asia with China and Pakistan. Hundreds of thousands of troops were pouring into the country while only the few thousands that was the Marine and Army forces quickly turned the battle into the Alamo. The United Korean Army lost thousands of troops in the opening of the ground and air campaign. T-90MS, an upgraded version of the newly developed T-90 with an Infrared gunner and commander's camera, internal GLONASS+ GPS navigation and newly developed Relikt explosive reactive armor, and BTR-90 APCs blitzkrieged the border along with PAK FA fighters and SU-34 fighter bombers. They quickly gained air superiority from the United Korean Air Force with their last generation F-15K Slam Eagles, F-16C Fighting Falcons and F-4 Phantoms. While all that happened, I was still in the barracks with the rest of my Marine brothers. We were scrambled as soon as bombs were dropped on our base. Out of the 1,200 that were in my battalion, close to 400 were left. Riding in the LAVs with the part of my squad that survived the initial bombing with my company sergeant leading the ad-hoc team. We had members from K Company and I Company. The charge was being led by two out of four tanks, seven remaining LAVs and two AH-1Z Viper attack helicopters. In the dim red light of the LAV, I could see the faces of the Marines. Tired, scared, hurt and confused we sat in the passenger bay. The Sergeant had rounded everyone who was still able to carry a rifle and walk into one coherent squad. We lost touch with the Company commander at the opening strike, Lieutenant Able was the only one we answered to now and he was riding at the front of the convoy. We were still minutes away from any town. That could change real fast at the pace the battle was going. There was no front line in this war.

"Lion Actual, we are five minutes from Man'po. Prepare for a hot zone." The radio crackled in my ears.

"Roger that, Ghost. You heard the intel guy, fucking check your gear and ready to get busy!" Lieutenant Able yelled through the COMMs as I checked my M16A4.

"Listen up dickwads, we are going into this zone with full force. The Russians are throwing everything at us –" Sergeant Gordon yelled through the loud engine of the LAV, an explosion cutting his sentence off.

"Oh fuck, I'm hit!" Someone screamed, blood splattering onto my face.

"This is your stop!" The driver yelled as the 25mm cannon started to fire. _Thump, thump, thump._

"Lower the ramp!" Sergeant Gordon screamed, the ramp still up and locked.

"I said lower the fucking ramp!" The bullets were now puncturing the skin of the LAV and killed the wounded Marine.

"The guy next to the door is dead, Sergeant!" One yelled back.

Sergeant Gordon got up from the seat next to me and leaped to the door. He smacked a button near the end of the LAV. Buzzing came from the hydraulic systems holding the ramp. Gun fire pinged off the LAV as Sergeant Gordon pulled the dead Marine deeper into the vehicle. I glanced at the outside while the ramp lowered. Red tracers crisscrossed the pitch black sky. The moon shown above the dark outlines of the mountains, making them glow ominously. The city was dark from the EMP burst the Russians deployed just moments before we arrived. A clank drew me to the lowered ramp as the Marines were sitting still in the LAV, Sergeant Gordon looked at us with a straight face.

"What the fuck are you waiting for?" He asked, the gunner grunted from a bullet and fell down onto his back.

"Get the fuck out!" Sergeant Gordon yelled as a bullet wounded another Marine.

"Get out!" I screamed seeing the men stand up to disembark.

Bullets ripped through the front of the LAV and struck down two men behind me. I winced from the zip of the rounds. The first few men ran through as I followed up behind. Explosions ripped in the distance. I stepped forward in line, bullets killed one Marine in front of me. It entered through his helmet and killed him before he even hit the deck. I stepped over my comrade's body without a thought in mind, all I could think about was staying alive. The explosions got louder, they were getting closer and closer. Sergeant Gordon was next to me. Where was the Marine that was standing there? I looked back seeing shrapnel sticking out from his chest. He groaned. There was nothing we could do. We were so close to the ramp. An explosion rocked the LAV, my ears ringing. Colors flashed before my eyes. I felt something dribble down my forehead. The world felt like it was rocking below me. Something poked at my armpit. I felt my vision coming back. I looked over to the right seeing an arm of a Marine. It was dismembered at the shoulder and blood poured all around the LAV. Bits of metal cascaded above me, the driver's head poking through the hatch where the gunner stood. Blood dripped from his helmet and onto the grated floor. Wires sparked and fuel leaked into the bay. I felt someone pull me up. I looked over to Sergeant Gordon yelling something. His lips moved but no sound came out. He slapped me twice on the cheek and pushed a rifle into my chest before limping out of the LAV. I stood there in the LAV, just realizing that it was lopsided. The mortar round burying it into a crater. Sound slowly returned to me. First like a whistling of the wind then, a gunfire.

"Get the fuck out of there devil dog!" Sergeant Gordon yelled, firing into the enemies behind me.

"Yes, Sergeant." I mumbled still unsure.

I walked out slowly from the LAV. Bodies were strewn out around the crater. Mortar and artillery rounds continued to rain down on the small Marine force. Dust blew at my face, the wind hollowing as fighter jets thundered into the skies above us. I was still dazed and confused when tear drops dropped from their wings. Those weren't tear drops.

"Everyone hit the deck!" Another Marine yelled, Sergeant Gordon running over to me and slammed my face into the ground.

It was silent for a moment. Then, a loud _bang_ exploded in front of me. Then another. A series of explosions shook the ground and threatened to rip the Earth in half. The ground rumbled as a gale buffeted my body, stripping the sweat from my skin. I slowly stood up after the bombs had stopped dropping. Pieces rained down on my body like rain from the clouds. The battlefield was obscured with clouds of dust and smoke. Some of the bombs had forsaken the men of pain, others were filled with napalm to torture them until they died. Shrill screams split the silence as Marines and Russians alike burned from poorly dropped bombs. They ran into the dust like little orbs of light. Sergeant Gordon got up and sat in a crouch. The two of us were the only survivors from the mortar and bomb attacks. Anybody else was either dead or going to be dead. It was a grim moment. I tried the radio. Static danced over the radio waves, the jammers utilizing white noise to obscure all radio frequencies except for encrypted ones. This battle had gone south so fast, we didn't even have time to react. Moaning drew me to a body only a few feet away from us in a crater. I looked to Sergeant Gordon. He gave me a nod as we moved cautiously into the fog. Laying in the crater was a Marine covered with dirt. His legs had blown off and the smell of rotten flesh filled the air. One arm laid next to his body, unattached. An M1911 was gripped in his left hand. His eyes looked at me. It was full of pain and anguish. He wanted the suffering to end. I was frozen unable to do anything. I had never seen anything like this. Sergeant Gordon inched towards the Marine and grabbed his hand. He placed the gun on the Marine's temple. The wounded Marine squeezed the trigger. _Bang._ Brain matter and blood exploded from his head and down onto the ground. The sound echoing in the silent mountains. I winced and closed my eyes. I didn't want to see anymore of this. I joined the Marines for a college tuition, not war.

"Rest in peace and may be embraced by our ancestors." Sergeant Gordon muttered, wrapping his hands around the dogtags hung around the Marine's neck.

"Sergeant?" He yanked the pieces of metal from the fallen's neck and stood up.

"Tell you what Giles. Let's find the Lieutenant and the rest of the team. Then, we can fuck up the Russians for killing our brothers." Sergeant Gordon said through gritted teeth.

"Yes, Sergeant." I replied back and followed Sergeant Gordon as he walked through the fog.

As far as I know, Sergeant Gordon had been in the Marines since Vietnam. At fifty two, he was nearing the end of his service. He knew how to survive and lead when the duty was thrust upon him. I trusted him with my life and would follow him into the depths of hell. Sometimes his orders were absolutely insane but, the battlefield was never a sane place to be. We walked through the fog with our rifles held at the ready. My legs throbbed with pulses of pain as the adrenaline rushed through me. The dust stung my lungs and made me cough. Gunfire had subsided and the screaming had stopped. I blinked quickly to clear the dust from my eyes and tried to stay focused. Footsteps pounded in the silence. Clicking echoed among the darkness. We walked out into the open and the dust cleared. In front of us was a cluster of houses built in the mountain side and was covered with trees. Two tanks sat there in the distance with their engines rumbling with black smoke. Muzzle flash bloomed near one of the houses not four hundred yards away. _Snap_. A round flew over my head.

"Find cover!" Sergeant Gordon yelled as I dived into one of the craters, bullets peppering my feet and heating up the air around me.

I looked up from the ground just to get dirt thrown into my face. Something warm started to flood into my pants. Oh god, I never thought this would happen but – I just pissed myself. I heard a _pop _and was quickly followed up by a _bang_. Someone had launched a rocket. Building up my courage, I looked up to see one of the tanks smoking with its active missile defense system protecting it. One brave motherfucker stood in the battlefield with a Javelin missile on his shoulder. He crouched down and detached the sight. This gave me the moment to run up into one of the buildings. I booked it. My legs carrying me as fast as it would allow. The piss that stained my pants turned the cloth into a freezing cold and uncomfortable hell. A house with three levels, still not destroyed was in front of me. Ordinary picket fences stood between me and the closest thing I called a secure position. I jumped over the fence, my left hand stinging as I did. Two enemy soldiers stood there about to fire on the lone Marine behind me. I lifted the M16A4 up and aimed down the holographic sight. _Crack, crack, crack_. The bullets instantly killed the two soldiers, one between the chest and the other received two right in the abdomen. I didn't have time to think. If I did, I would have died. Instinct and training drove me. The battle imbuing me with a sense of clarity I have never felt before. The room was dark and dreary. Stains of blood and bits of concrete dust had covered the wooden floors. Sergeant Gordon had followed my rush and was close behind.

"What the hell is that?" Sergeant Gordon said with curiosity.

It looked like a tank in the dark fitted with a rectangular box on top. The rumbling of its giant engine shook the house as the rectangular box pointed upwards into the skies. White glint shined off the individual holes in the box. That thing was rocket artillery.

"Rocket artillery!" I yelled, hearing the loud bang of the rocket motor.

Flashes lit up the night and rockets launched into the skies like firework. There wasn't one but hundreds of them firing on reinforcing United States and United Korean soldiers. Like the old missiles of world war two, the rockets descended onto the targets with a howling similar to the screeching banshees. The TOS-1M was a rocket artillery unit with a range of over six kilometers. Its missiles were thermobaric in nature similar to napalm and was designed to kill infantry and light armored vehicles. I looked to Sergeant Gordon who was grim as ever, a gurgle coming up from one of the soldiers I killed. Pulling out my M1911, I put a round into the bodies to make sure they stayed silent while the rockets finished their firing phase.

"What are we going to do, Sergeant?" I asked looking out the window, Sergeant Gordon switching magazines.

"The only thing we can do -" He stated pulling out his pistol and loading a round into the chamber before holstering it.

"...fight." Sergeant Gordon said with the single word seeming the most fitting in this situation.

"Hoorah." I whispered with a small smile.

Sometimes desperate times, call for desperate measures. I pulled out my KA-BAR knife and placed it over the barrel of he M16A4. We waited, waiting for the crew to jump and rearm the monster. Two re-supply trucks pulled up beside the rocket artillery. Men jumped off with rockets in their arms and each looked like they were carried by at least four men. Sergeant Gordon jumped over the window, his boots shattering the glass into minute pieces. The men stopped to see the both of us with our guns up as I covered Sergeant Gordon. _Crack_. One man slumped down into the ground, the tip of the rocket burying itself into the dirt. _Crack, crack, crack. _The both of us opened fire and completely killed all three of the men before they could retrieve their weapons. I could still feel the heat of the brass ejecting from my rifle in the frosty countryside. Before I could breathe, bullet zips came from the left of us. I leaned out seeing the other rocket crew holding shortened AK-74SU carbines. Gordon jumped behind the rocket artillery and pulled out a grenade. I jumped over the window and flicked the fire selector to burst.

"You have to do it now, Sergeant!" I yelled firing at the inexperienced crewmen, they were trained to be mechanics not soldiers.

"Simmer the fuck down, Giles! I'm getting to it..." Sergeant Gordon grunted back as he pulled the pin out of the grenade and dropped it down into the partially open hatch.

A muffled bang shook the TOS-1, the metal inside denting. Hydraulics and pneumatics hissed from shrapnel. The crew inside dead. I fired twice and killed one of the four re-armors. Sergeant Gordon provided extra firepower and the other three died slumped next to their trucks. The gun fire had alerted the Russians and now the battle against remaining Marines was once again in full swing.

"Giles, you remember anything from demolition training?" Sergeant Gordon asked as I nodded.

"A little bit, Sarge." I replied, Sergeant Gordon pulling the missile from the ground.

"Get all the explosives you can from the missiles and rig the others to blow." Sergeant ordered.

"Hoorah." I replied placing the rifle on the high truck and jumping inside.

The missiles trucks were filled to the brim with warheads. Air-burst munitions, ground penetration, thermobaric and all sorts of killing explosives were packed in small, open boxes. I went to one of the missiles and pulled out a multi-tool, twisting the nose off. Inside was a giant arm length cylinder filled with explosive ordinance. Gun fire started to get even more intense, the sounds moving closer. I pulled out the explosive and shoved it into my pack. I repeated this process three times before filling out the space in my backpack reserved for extra MREs (Meals Ready to Eat), ammunition and various survival tools that I thought I didn't need. Sergeant Gordon showed up with shielded electrical wire coiled around his shoulder. With all of the nose cones off the missiles, I took the cord and split it into different lengths. The wire was pushed deep inside the explosive ordnance before placing the blasting fuses to make sure the explosives ignited. A thumb sized dough of C4 would do the trick. I turned around to see Sergeant Gordon gone and my backpack filled with three protruding black plastic wrapped cylinders.

Jumping off the truck, I saw Sergeant Gordon staring at a map. He had his flashlight out. It emitted a soft red light onto the paper. I stood behind him and peered over his shoulder. The Russian map was marked with dots and crosses. One of these sights must be something significant.

"What's that Sergeant?" I asked, the older man look at me.

"Possible sites for what's blocking radio communications. We take out one of these...it might give us radio in a five klick radius." Sergeant Gordon sighed and folded the paper, extinguishing the torch.

"Pop a flare here and meet me at the house's nine, two hundred meters." Sergeant Gordon ordered as he picked up the cord and started to walk around the forest behind the houses.

I pulled out a red metal cylinder from my backpack. I pointed the cylinder into the sky and held it above my head. With a smash into the end of the cylinder, a pop could be heard as the glowing orb of orange shot into the sky. My eyes closed tightly to retain natural night vision. I quickly ran after Sergeant Gordon, taking out a magazine and smacking it against my helmet to make sure that dust wouldn't hamper the spring while chambering a new round. We walked for what seemed like minutes before Sergeant Gordon crouched down near the treeline. He pulled out a detonator as I slumped down into the dirt. It was soft and cool, the explosives weighing me down. The world started to pitch and turn below me. My face covered in sweat, blood and dirt. The skin slick and sticky with oil. I sipped from my water bladder. The cool liquid turned the sandpaper of my throat back to normal with a sting from extended dehydration. I pulled out my portable GPS. Nothing. It looked like the Russians were jamming our GPS with their GLONASS satellites orbiting low in geo-syncronuous orbit. Specks of white snow like stars filled the skies with twinkling. It was a beautiful night. I heard footsteps sloshing in the mud like ground. Shapes darted from the house. The brave Marine launching rockets was on the ground with his limbs scattered around him. Those shapes were Marines.

"Hey, you! Get the fuck back!" I yelled seeing the group of four.

"What?" He yelled back.

"Get the fuck back!" I yelled.

Before he could answer, the 12.7mm the size of the fifty caliber but heavier punched right though his body armor. He leaned forward from the vacuum created by the bullet as the man behind him was also killed from the round into the chest. Both of them died instantly. A tank was rolling towards them.

"Move you ass here now!" I ordered seeing Sergeant Gordon holding the detonator in his hands.

They did not hesitate. The two Marines booked it. Running so fast, one fell on his face as the tank punched through the house. Its armor demolishing the walls like butter. One had gotten to me but the other had just frozen. His body had shut down from sensory overload. He just froze. Sergeant Gordon squeezed the trigger. Just as the missiles ignited, a 7.62mm round had shot off from the tank's coaxial machine gun. The missiles exploded with a bright orange glow and bathed the forest trees around it in brilliant white phosphorous flames. Shrapnel ripped through the skies. Something stung my cheeks as warm liquid flowed down my neck. I touched a cut and saw blood. It wasn't a big concern. The tank was still rumbling with life as the explosion grew large into the sky, the darkness glowed for a split second before turning back into pitch black. I saw something leak from the tank and on to the ground spreading rapidly towards the fire. Two rounds exploded from the gun. The Marine was hit twice in the torso. He slumped down into the ground. The liquid flashed with orange flames, the fire following the trail of fuel. Nothing happened for a while. _Bang_. The turret of the T-90 exploded and fumed dark smoke. Looks like the fire had ignited the main ammunition stores of the tank. Sergeant Gordon turned to the wide-eyed Marine. His brown eyes and black buzz cut showing through his hastily worn helmet.

"What's your name, Marine." He spoke, getting up and disconnecting the line into the detonator.

"Jeff...P-Private Jeff Orlando, Sergeant." The Private stuttered from system shock and information overload.

"Where are you from?" He asked, the three of us walking towards the downed Marine.

"I'm from South Caro-" Orlando started just to be cut off.

"Company son, what Company." Sergeant Gordon stated, turning the wounded Marine over.

"I Company, Sarge." Orlando said quickly.

"Where's your Platoon Sergeant?" Sergeant Gordon asked as he closed the eyelids of the Marine and pulled out his dogtags.

"Dead." He answered, Sergeant Gordon's face still grim as ever.

"Okay then, you're with us now. I'm Staff Sergeant Gordon and that's Corporal David Giles." Sergeant Gordon spoke quickly after a brief pause.

"Hey." I said with a quick smile.

"We're from J Company. Now we're all introduced, let's keep fucking going." Sergeant Gordon grunted and started walking in the direction of the assumed jammer.

"Hey, Orlando." I said finally glad to see another Marine that's not a hardass like Sergeant Gordon.

"Y-yeah?" Orlando stuttered, it looks like he was getting the 'shakes'.

"Did you piss or shit yourself yet?" I asked walking into the forest.

"No." He replied as I chuckled, everything seemed funny when you've been up for eighteen hours straight and running without rest.

"You soon will." I smiled and gave him a small tap on the back.

The three of us continued into the forest. The deeper we got, the less light started to shine through the trees. It got to the point where I couldn't see five feet in front of me. We weren't Special Operations so we did he only thing we can do. I broke out the low-luminance glow sticks. Placing one on our helmets would make a soft neon green glow that we could see. It was visible up to one hundred feet in pitch dark and ten feet in a full moon. The gun fire came to a pause as the firefight entered a lull. We were all on the edge and Orlando was flinching at every broken branch we stepped on. I hoped the Russian Spetsnaz weren't out to play tonight or else we were all dead men. Sergeant Gordon stopped right in front of me, the three of us doing the same. He pulled the chemlight from the back of his helmet strap and stuffed it inside one of his pouches to extinguish the bright glow. I followed his lead while Orlando still had his on his head. I gave him a smack on the helmet and pointed at the chemlight. Orlando quickly grabbed the chemlight and shoved it into his pouch, light still spilling from the cloth. Looks like I'm going to have to babysit him. I pulled the light from his pouch and placed it in his pack. No light, no one's going to die. It was pitch black and we had to stick right behind Sergeant Gordon. My hand literally had to be grasped on his shoulder. Orlando did the same, except he was shaking with fear. His fear meter ticked to 8. 10 being complete loss of mind, locking up on the spot. We stepped forward. My feet right behind Sergeant Gordon's boots. Talking. I heard talking from within the woods. The closer we got, the more alien the words became. It was Russian. The words sounded like they were next to my ear. A branch cracked and the words stopped. I felt something brush up against me.

"Vladimir?" Someone spoke right next to me.

I didn't think. My arms stabbed my rifle into the left. A gurgle escaped the darkness as I thumbed the trigger. Flashes of light lit up the forest. Blonde hair and blue eyes were all that I caught with the spraying of blood. Warm liquid splattered on my face. I tripped on something and fell face first into the now dead man. The distinct crack of the M4 exploded behind me. _Thump_. A body landed in the darkness. Bright light made me squint my eyes. Sergeant Gordon had turned on the light duct-tapped around his rifle. I looked up and saw the open mouth of the Russian soldier. He had a night vision goggle attached to his helmet but didn't use it. My rifle's bayonet was buried in his armor and abdomen. I got up and pulled the rifle from the man's body, the blade dripping with red blood. I saw Orlando flinging his rifle around with a frightened look on his face. He was twitching madly. He needed to sleep before fatigue and shock pulls him into a deep coma.

"Sergeant, he needs to sleep." I stated with worry.

"I know." He grunted, the flashlight revealing a small radio like box hooked up to a giant satellite antenna.

Sergeant Gordon pulled out his pistol and fired two rounds into the box, effectively destroying it. The static of the radio turned into a hailstorm of confusion. Squad leaders asking for directions from Platoon Sergeants without end, Company commander asking for the battalion officer and the battalion officer asking for air support. It was a clusterfuck of massive proportions. I looked to Sergeant Gordon who squeezed the radio transmit button on his vest.

"Everyone shut the fuck up!" He yelled, the radio turning into silence.

"Lieutenant Able, report." Sergeant Gordon spoke calmly.

"The Lieutenant is dead, I repeat the Lieutenant is dead!" A soldier yelled on the radio.

"Who's in command?" Sergeant Gordon asked, sitting down on a near-by rock.

"If my memory serves correctly, Staff Sergeant Gordon from Joker Company!" The soldier once again screamed into the radio with gun fire zipping in the background.

"Crap." Sergeant Gordon growled.

"Giles, get out a flare. We're going establish a temporary command post here and rally all of the Marines here. Get that Private on perimeter until the others can relieve him." Sergeant Gordon ordered as I nodded.

"Orlando!" I yelled, the Private quickly turned his head towards me.

"Take a fucking chill pill and guard the perimeter. Don't go out too far." Private Orlando nodded and swallowed, walking deeper into the forest.

"All Marines head towards the red flare, I repeat head towards the red flare." Sergeant Gordon spoke slowly and clearly into the radio.

"Flare out." I grunted and smacked the bottom of the cylinder.

I waited next to Sergeant Gordon with Orlando a few feet away from us. His eyes were fluttering. They would close, only to open a few seconds later. His M16A4 rifle dipped into the dirt and his body was just exhausted. Minutes was spent sitting in the darkness. The flare had gone dark a few seconds before the first Marines showed up. Four men and two women marched out of the forest. Sergeant Gordon made them form a perimeter and guard the Orlando while he slept. Orlando was sleeping underneath a giant tree that seemed like it was hundreds of years old. One of the women was a medic and was helping me patch up my face. I took off the helmet and placed it next to me. Sitting on a rock, my rifle was kept ready to fire at all times. Working with a dim, red torch strapped to her head, the medic pulled out what seemed like a plastic bottle. She was a Lance Corporal, one rank lower than me, one rank higher than Orlando.

"Is that Vodka?" I asked as she poured some over a cotton ball.

"Yeah, why?" She grunted, dabbing the ball over my the wound near my hair.

"Give me some." I said and reached out to grab to bottle.

"Not so fast. You're injured, and we can't have you drunk while you're on watch." She replied with a playful smile.

"Lance, just give me the bottle. I've been up for nineteen hours and haven't had a wink of sleep. At least let me get something in my belly." I growled and snatched the bottle from her hand.

"Hey!" She snapped as I chugged down two gulps, the liquid stinging and burning down my throat.

"Give that back, it's my emergency stash." She swiped the bottle back from hand and pushed it down her vest pouch.

"For you to drink?" I asked, the burden on my shoulders starting to fade, for the time anyway.

"No. It's for the wounded, Captain Obvious." She shot back and placed a bandage over my cuts.

"Giles." Sergeant Gordon called from behind me.

"Yes, Sarge?" I asked and snapped to attention.

"I'm giving you a field promotion to Sergeant. We've only got two Non-Comms (Non-Commissioned Officers) still here and you're the person I trust most." Sergeant Gordon explained as I nodded.

"Orlando, you..." Sergeant Gordon pointed to the medic.

"...you, you and you." Sergeant Gordon pointed to one woman and two men.

"Are you Fire team Charlie under Sergeant Giles's command." He ordered as the ones chosen started to walk towards me.

"But I'm a medic!" The woman groaned.

"Male, female, animal, doctor, garbageman, I don't give a fuck. You are a Marine and a rifleman first. Now get your ass off that ground and fall in." Sergeant Gordon growled, his orders overruling everything anyone said.

"Happy now? That's what you get for talking like that to a high ranking Marine." I said with a chuckle.

"Screw you." She said with a snort.

"Now that everyone's here. I'd like to go over the plan for tomorrow." Sergeant Gordon stated and laid out a laminated map of the area.

"We have portable radio jammers throughout the area. The Russians are using this to disrupt our chain of command. We have to face the fact that there will be no reinforcements, no supplies and no support. This is the real deal people. We will need to live off the land, conserve ammo or scavenge it off of the dead soldiers. This area will be our primary HQ. We have twenty five Marines still alive with the rest MIA. I'm splitting the teams up into three. Eighteen Marines will be on the offensive. Disruption, reconnaissance, guerrilla strikes. The rest will become sentries patrolling the area in one kilometer diameter with the radios set to short wave transmissions. We start operations at dawn, understood?" Sergeant Gordon stated looking at the map.

"Hoorah." We answered back.

"Dismissed." I walked away with the team of five, Orlando happily sleeping.

"Sergeant." An eager African-American machine gunner stated walking in front of me.

"Yes?" I replied walking over to the tree Orlando slept under.

"Shouldn't we get to know each other? I mean that's all we have. Right?" He asked as I shook my head.

"Not right now. We need some sleep. _I_ need some sleep. We'll do this shit in the morning." I growled, crouching under the small space the tree offered and got in next to Orlando.

"Nuh uh, I'm not sleeping in there with you guys." The medic stepped back only to crash into the female grenadier from her squad.

"Come on Sophie, it's going to get cold in the morning." The grenadier got inside the tree and snuggled close to Orlando, her weapon held next to his face.

"But Ash -" She started.

"No buts, get in here now sister." The grenadier ordered.

The medic grumbled and slid right next to me. The machine gunner and the rifleman leaned against the tree, their cheeks resting on their backpacks. The rifleman carried the new M27 Infantry Automatic Rifle and had propped it up next to him for easy reach. While the machine gunner had his M240G next to him while the laid out in front of my feet. I had my M16A4 propped up against the wall behind us with the other weapons. I rolled over to see the medic staring at me with green eyes and an agitated look on her face.

"Don't you even think about it." She warned in a low voice.

"I wouldn't even dream." I smiled.

"Do you even brush your teeth?" She hissed back.

"Will you two just shut up?" The three yelled, I stopped and closed my eyes to drift off into the inviting arms of sleep.


	6. Chapter 4 Part 2: Journey to Moldova

At The Edge of The World

November 13th, 2014

Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint, 1st MEUSOC Battalion

U.S.S. George H.W. Bush

0500 Hours

Stirring around from the laziness that was called sleep, I woke up in a dark room. Light shined in from a small porthole in the metal walled officers quarters. I looked at the digital watch strapped to my left wrist. 0500 Hours. Three more hours than I was use to sleeping on normal operations. At the opposite of me was another bed. The slim body under the sheets belonged to Michelle. Elf and Jorge was in the room next to us, the four of us being assigned to quarters after four pilots left for retraining in the F-35C. I pushed myself off to bed and walked to the bathroom inside the quarters. The pilots that left had the rank of Commander and Captain, they were in that pay grade for over two years to get a shot at the newest aircraft. The day quickly became routine. Brushing, shaving, bathing, it all felt the same. Sometimes you don't even realize that you were doing the action, it was all muscle memory and automatic. I slipped on the same unwashed flight suit and walked out into the metal corridor of the carrier. After twelve hours in the same jet, I didn't know how I kept my bladder under control. Oh wait, I pissed in a bottle hidden in a small compartment in the jet. Colbert had placed it there for long flights and it really came in handy. Yesterday was utterly boring after the nuclear explosion. Takeoff, fly in formation, patrol, refuel, patrol, refuel – the cycle never ends until your time on station was over. I walked to the mess hall and got my usual meal. An American breakfast with triple helpings of bacon, eggs and toast. This was the same dish all of the Marines eat in boot camp. I found a lone table in the middle of the cramped mess hall filled with chatting aviators and crewmen. I sat down and started to devour my meal, wolfing down everything. My mind forced me to stop. I forgot my drink. The mess hall was serving hot coco and I wasn't about to miss out. A man with whiting buzz cut hair and muscles bulging through his flight suit walked into the mess hall, rubbing his eyes.

"Jorge, why are you up so early? I thought Seals sleep until ten." I said with an amused smile and sat back down at my table.

"Fuck you, Flint. Of all the years I've been with you, I don't know why I haven't slept next to Elf yet." He replied, walking over to the small cooking area filled with Navy chefs.

"Now I know. He snores like a fucking pig." Jorge grunted back, rubbing his forehead.

"You get used to it after a week." I stated and resumed wolfing down the meal.

"After a week? I won't get enough sleep in a week. We've been running operations since that last incident in the middle of Iraq and I haven't gotten any more sleep than three hours." Jorge groaned and quickly chugged the coffee down his throat.

"Have you heard about Raimstein?" I asked finish the last strip of bacon and grabbed the hot chocolate.

"The USAF Air Base in Germany?" He replied as I stood up.

"Yeah." I stated walking to the med-bay to visit Bal.

"No why?" Jorge grabbed another cup of coffee he bought at the mess hall.

"Russian Air Wings deployed to Belarus attacked at 1345 Hours yesterday. Two hours after the nuclear bomb exploded. Within the first hour of the campaign, they took out four F-16C fighters in their hangars while the rest of the aircraft from the airbase was on their way to counter the aircraft flying into France. By the time they noticed, the whole air base was taken out." I explained walking into a long and wide room filled with injured men on both sides.

"No survivors?" Jorge asked.

"No survivors, they used napalm bombs." I replied seeing Bal apparently flirting with another nurse.

"Apparently Bal's fine..." I whispered standing next to his bed.

"Sorry Alice, I'll talk with you another time okay babe?" Bal stated to the navy nurse who nodded, glancing at the two of us before walking away.

"What the hell, Bal. You're suppose to be sleeping." Jorge grunted finishing another cup of coffee, crumpling the paper cup in his hands and throwing it into a trash can near Bal's bed.

"And you guys are suppose to flying." Bal replied with a cocky smile.

"Flint hooked up with the spook." Jorge said quickly as a smile started to spread on Bal's lip.

"Yeah I know you'd–" Bal stopped talking, his minding thinking of something else.

"What?" He exclaimed with widened eyes.

"How did you get a girlfriend before me? How did Mr. The-Marine-Corps-is-my-life get a girlfriend?" Bal said with disbelief.

"I don't know. Just felt like it. Plus, you jelly?" I asked with a sly smile.

"Why you little shit..." Bal grumbled, moving in his bed just to hiss in pain.

"...wait until I get out of this fucking bed. You'll see who's the ladies man." Bal growled as his pride took a hit.

"Yeah, yeah, no bite at all little man. Come on Flint, he looks fine enough." Jorge said with a chuckle.

"We'll see Flint, we'll see!" Bal yelled, making the patients and doctors look over to him.

The two of us decided to go up on the flight deck for some fresh air. Stepping out from the loud hangar underneath the carrier, the load roar of jet engines threatened to blow out our ear drums. Salty winds blew at our faces as the heated sun shined from the darkened horizon. Red skies glowed around the yellow sphere as it slowly rose from the division between sea and sky. Two dark gray painted F-35Cs sat on the catapults with the shuttle locked on their nose wheels. Two black shirts ran around the aircraft checking the systems one final time before they took off. They ran back from the aircraft as the F-35Cs activated the afterburners. The air behind the engines of the F-35Cs turned into a heated red, fuel being ejected into the burning hot exhaust. Their nose sank towards the deck before being catapult into the air. They disappeared in a blur just to reappear off the bow, climbing up to their predetermined altitude. Four more F-35Cs were in line to takeoff. Behind the carrier were returning F/A-18Es and Fs from the patrol. Three were on deck being decontaminated after flying through clouds of nuclear smoke, much like we were after flights at midnight. It was already humiliating enough having to disrobe in front of female and male HAZMAT teams while being sprayed with decontamination liquids. The two of us looked at the flight deck for a while long, the sun slowly turning night into day. We walked back down into the hangar to see our aircraft sitting with the liquids drying in the shelter. One of the green shirts was wiping the liquid off of the grey, metallic skin of the Hornet. I smiled seeing the same level of dedication I had while on the field with the men.

"Is that who I think it is?" Came a voice from behind us.

"Fuck it is! Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint." I turned around to see an African-American and a Caucasian man in the standard Marine Corps outfit walking towards me with their M16A3 rifles.

"God damn, it's the gay couple." I chuckled shaking both of their hands.

"That's Snake Six-Six to you, Reaper." Sergeant Gregory Long stated with a smile.

"I haven't seen you since Desert Storm. How's World War Three treating you?" Staff Sergeant Micheal Evans asked, the African-American giving me a fist tap.

"World War Three?" I asked, curious.

"Russia's bull rushed the European countries as you know, China on the other hand is launching an all-out assault on Japan, South-East Asia and Australia. Pakistan's helping them out too." Evans explained as I nodded.

"The UN is in complete disarray, Canada and the US are keeping put though. All the Pacific and Atlantic tasks forces are full to the brim with missions." Long continued, pulling of his helmet.

"What about you two? You looked too armed to the teeth for a stroll in the carrier." Jorge said and crossed arms around his chest.

"We're going into Moldova to recover the attack plans. Small country but a bitch of an Army." Long replied with a smile.

"Hoo-fucking-rah, brother." Evans fist tapping his partner.

"Well, we'll see you around. Our ride's here." Long pulled on his helmet and jogged out to the small elevator used to lift the aircraft onto the flight deck. An Army MH-60K sat waiting for the pair as they hopped onto the helicopter.

"Staff Sergeant Joshua Flint and Chief Petty Officer Jorge Keller, please report to the ready room." The PA system blared inside the hangar of the ship, the sound echoing throughout the hollow inside.

"Looks like another patrol." Jorge sighed as we quickly ran into the corridor.

The both of us narrowly dodged walking navy personnel, running as fast as we can to the ready room. I saw Michelle running towards us with her hair all frizzy and unkempt. Elf was right behind her and tried hard not to trip over his feet as he looked like he was still in a daze of sleep. The four of us turned left into a wide room filled with two television screens and a giant whiteboard behind a plastic desk. Hawkins and Colbert were already in their seat near the front with the Carrier Air Wing commander, the one responsible for all the aircraft's personnel standing next to the Deputy Commander. We quickly jumped in the seats next to Hawkins and Colbert. Captain John Howard walked toward us with a clipboard before glancing at me.

"Good job on the flight yesterday, Staff Sergeant. You've just made ace with three kills. You too Chief Petty Officer." He stated with a quick smile.

"Alright, now onto more pressing matters. We need an air base in Moldova taken out. Are you six up for the job?" Captain Howard asked as I nodded.

"You don't even have to ask, sir." I replied, pulling out a pen.

"Good. I love the motivation. Now, Colbert and Hawkins will be flying two spare F-35Cs instead of their usual F/A-18Fs. I'm sure you two had a five-day intensive training with Captain Jacobs, am I correct?" Captain Howard asked.

"Yes sir." They both nodded.

"Well, he's been MIA since the battle started." Captain Howard sighed and pulled up a folder.

"As for you four, you'll be flying the F/A-18F Super bug as always. Now. Your mission is to disrupt air base activities. One will be fitted with BLU-107C Durandals. The other will be equipped with DSU-38/B, an airburst five hundred pound JDAM-ER bomb with an extended range of eight kilometers." Captain Howard read from the folder, my hands writing down notes into my thigh notebook.

"Hawkins will be flying with Flint as per senior flight status and Colbert with Keller. Hawkins will cover for Flint while moving ground and same with Colbert and Keller. Take off time is 0835 Hours so you have...an hour to get ready for the flight. Callsigns are Razor One, Two, Three and Four respectively. A flight of F-22A Raptors callsign Bull Three will be escorting you into airspace with a tanker on TACAN channel zero four eight x-ray callsign Camel Six-Three will be orbiting Italy will be standing by to refuel you." Captain Howard threw the folder back onto the table where the Deputy Commander was sitting, he didn't even flinch.

"Any questions?" He asked, the six of us sitting like statues in the seat.

"None? Okay then, dismissed." Captain Howard finished and turned back to the Deputy Commander.

"That's it?" I leaned over and asked Hawkins.

"Yeah, that's how things are done VFA-107 'Diamondbacks'." Hawkins replied and gave me a wink.

"Alright, let's get out of here. I have to get my weapons straightened out and practice." I grumbled, getting up and walking over to the range down in the hangar.

I walked down the hallway towards the firing range built into the side of a hangar. Quickly hopping into my room, I pulled out my trusty REC 7 rifle and Sig Sauer P2022 pistol from a small duffel bag. I quickly walked out into the corridor and bumped into Lieutenant Hawkins with her standard issue M9 pistol. The two of us walked down towards the hangar together. I inquired why she was here.

"To practice with my M9, I've gotten out of touch with it in the last couple of years." She said with a small smile.

We walked into the hangar and loaded up our magazines until it was brimming with ammunition. The quiet hangar filled with the rocking sea and the electrical humming was replaced by the crackling of supersonic ammunition striking paper before being stopped by the sea. Everyone was on overdrive, walking ammunition up to the aircraft and flying combat air patrol in Western Europe. The hangar was rumbling with engines from the launching jets and the thundering of turbines from the landing aircraft smashing into the deck. Soon the gun fire slowed down to a halt. Lieutenant Hawkins pausing to rest while I hammered the targets continuously with my rifle. The SEALs might have fired more rounds than the entire Marines but we fire more rounds than our infantry brethren, it pays to bet the best.

"You're really good, Sergeant." Lieutenant Hawkins praised and loaded another magazine into her pistol.

"I have to be, that's my job's requirement." I replied and emptying the current magazine before slapping in a new one.

"Hey guys." I heard a voice from behind me call.

"We're on alert 30. Suit up." It was Lieutenant Colbert warning us that we're going in early.

"Already?" I asked and packed up my gear.

"Russian flights inbound for the carrier and runways. The entire air group's OCA Strike's (Offensive Counter Air) been pushed forward one hour." Lieutenant Colbert spoke quickly as I ran with my duffel bag through the enclosed space.

"Is that why the aircraft just landing's being launched already?" I replied and stepped into the locker room.

"Yeah, everyone's on overdrive." Lieutenant Colbert stated and opened his locker.

I opened Colonel Bartholomew's locker, a Colonel who went on to train on the F-35C. His old helmet equipped with a JHCMS painted in a red stripe in the middle with letters on the side reading CAG (Commander Air Group). I had a small smirk on my face and pulled on the G-suit. Michelle pulling on her helmet gave me what I thought a death stare. Tugging on the straps of my G-suit, I paid no attention and stepped out, walking down a long corridor to the other side of the aircraft carrier. We emerged out from the darkness and onto the backs of our aircraft. Two F-35Cs and two F/A-18Fs sat waiting on the deck with jets rearming and refueling. It was what we called a 'red deck'. Two green shirts ran towards me and snatched away a small little black data cartridge. We did a quick inspection of the aircraft, pulling on the missiles, checking if all the pins were out and pushing on the control surfaces. Armed with six bombs, two medium air-to-air missiles and two short range missiles, and three fuel tanks this thing looked like a beast. While I looked at the underside of the aircraft, Michelle walked up to me.

"Hey, Flint." She addressed me with my last name, that's a bad sign.

"Yeah?" I asked and walked over to the ladders, finished with my inspection.

"What were you doing with Lieutenant Hawkins?" Michelle asked as I pulled the helmet onto my head.

"I -" I started but was cut off by the green shirt.

"We've been shifted from Alert 30 to Alert 10." He quickly spoke and helped me pull on the harness.

"Are the Russians that close?" I asked and poised my finger over the engine crank switch.

"They're six hundred miles out with Anti-AWACS missiles, good luck out there sir." The green shirt saluted and slid down the ladder, folding it back into the aircraft's skin.

I quickly initiated the start-up sequence. A growl came over the helmet's thick shell, the turbines were turning. I looked at the right panel and saw the data cartridge inside. To my right, Jorge gave me a thumbs-up. To my left, Lieutenant Colbert saluted me in his matte black F-35C armed to the teeth with missiles and stealthy external jamming pods. The canopy slowly lowered to close off the cockpit. With the radios already on, I strapped the oxygen tightly on my face. I slid the JHCMS visor down and began the BIT test. Numerous lines of code scrolled by before the HUD popped up on the visor and disappeared.

"Tower, Razor One requesting permission to taxi to the Catapults." Lieutenant Hawkins's voice came over the radio.

"So, Flint. What were you doing with Lieutenant Hawkins?" Michelle asked, her voice laced with jealousy and looked over her control panel, staring at the back of my helmet.

"Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?" I replied, amused.

"No, I just wanted to know where you went. Jorge and Elf were with me the whole time." She stated and looked down at her control panel.

"Razor flight, permission granted. Taxi to CATs One to Four, you are number two for take-off." The tower replied, I gave a quick hand signal for the crewmen to remove the chalks holding the aircraft in place.

"Razor flight rogers, all aircraft taxi to perspective CATs." Lieutenant Hawkins ordered and eased her aircraft forward.

"This is Razor Two, copy." Colbert replied and followed after her.

"This is Razor Three, taxing to CAT Three." I reported and leaned over the instrument panel of the F/A-18F.

"Razor Four copies." Jorge stated.

One yellow shirt waited a few feet near the front of my aircraft. He looked at the F-35Cs as they slowly turned towards the catapults. The stealth aircraft's exhaust danced with mirages from the high temperatures being ejected from the Pratt & Whitney F135 turbine, it's matte black nozzle petals expanding and contracting. With the F-35Cs lining up behind the launching F/A-18Es, the yellow shirt looked back towards me and raised the orange light sticks in his hands. He waved me forward. I responded with a push of the throttle. The whine of the aircraft shifted in pitch and volume. The Hornet slowly moved forward with more than thirty tons of ammunition loaded on its wings. He pointed the light sticks left and saluted me. I replied with a salute and vectored onto the middle-left catapult. Just as I lined up with the jet blast deflectors, the F/A-18Es were flung into the sky. The blue ocean and the clear sky beckoned for us. The dark clouds of the nuclear explosion stuck out of the horizon like a giant sore thumb to our left. With the last sortie launched, it was our turn. One loud clank signaled me to ease the aircraft onto the catapult. The Jet Blast Deflector lowered back into the ship to grant me access. I flicked a switch to lower the wings and lock them into position.

"Hammer flight, inbound for landing." I slowly followed a yellow shirt's instruction as he directed me onto the catapult.

"Roger that, enter traffic pattern. The deck is red, repeat. Red deck." The yellow shirt signaled me to stop.

"Hammer flight copies, returning to pattern." I pushed the toe brakes and flicked on the parking brake to stop the F/A-18F from rolling forwards or backwards.

"Ghost Eye to Dragon flight, we have enemy bogies pushing the envelope. Zero eight zero, group, fifty miles, two thousand feet, low." The radio chatter went on, the crew rushing around my aircraft.

I could see a small shuttle being dragged by two men back towards the main landing gear. The yellow shirt watched and slowly waved me forwards with two of his fingers uncurled, gesturing for me to move. With the parking brake disabled, the aircraft crept forward slowly. He then flashed his hand at me and nodded. I flicked on the parking brake and sat back in the seat. Michelle stared at me through the mirror, the anger in her glare apparent.

"Razor Three, wipe your controls." The black shirt next to me ordered.

"Roger, three wiping controls." I yanked the stick in a circular motion and pressed on the rudder pedals.

"Looks good." He replied and walked underneath my aircraft.

"You didn't answer my question, Flint." Michelle pressed the question.

"I was just practicing my shot that's all. I am an operator after all." I replied and looked up at the rearview mirror.

"You need to learn how to share, Oliver." Hawkins stated from her aircraft parked on the right side of the angled deck.

"Shut up." She shot back with such venom it was surprising.

"Uh, Razor One, cleared for takeoff. Heading zero eight seven, angels thirty, squawk five thousand." The tower quickly replied.

"Razor One copies." I looked to the black shirt and gave him a quick thumbs-up.

He nodded and looked over to the catapult officer, giving him a quick thumbs-up while the green shirts verified the F/A-18F's weight one last time with a giant electronic board held up high in the air. One yellow shirt standing far away from my aircraft raised both of his hands up and flashed them continuously, signaling me to rev the twin turbofans into afterburners. I pushed the throttle up and did a final wipe-out once before taking off. Looking back, left and right, it never hurt to make sure nothing was wrong. Small flaps on the wings raised and lowered while the rudders on the twin tail fins moved left and right. I looked back at the yellow shirt and gave him a thumbs-up along with a quick salute. He saluted back before touching both hands to his helmet, kneeling down and pointing his right hand into the sea. I heard a giant _whoosh_ from a catapult nearby. Lieutenant Hawkins's F-35C shot forward into the sky and was quickly followed by Lieutenant Colbert. I grabbed the left rail mounted onto the canopy. The oxygen hissed in my mask as nothing except the roar of the engines pounded my ear. My heart thumped in my chest and the radio chatter faded into the noise of the carrier and the aircraft. I inhaled. My body jolted backwards while my only hand kept my body from completely being pressed into the seat with the other pulling the stick back to ensure that the jet pitched up at the end of the catapult stroke. Shaking filled the cockpit. One second passed, the Super Hornet was already being thrown halfway down the catapult. My helmet was nestled against the ejector seat. The shaking stopped and my body was thrown forward. We were airborne. I realized that I stopped breathing and exhaled. Banking the F/A-18F left, I did a ten degree clearing turn and retracted the landing gears.

"Good launch, good launch." Lieutenant Hawkins murmured a hundreds of meters in front of me.

I stared at the cloudless sky to find Hawkins. She was a small dot with Colbert above the horizon. The pair was turning away from us. I banked right and pulled the throttle back to conserve fuel. The HUD projected onto my visor telling me I was at two thousand feet and rising. Hawkins, Colbert, Jorge and I formed up miles away from the carrier itself. We were flying a fluid four formation with at least four thousand feet of space between each aircraft. I was level with Hawkins's aircraft and the four of us flew at fifteen thousand feet after receiving clearance from the tower. The skies were filled with formations of all sorts of aircraft. I trimmed the aircraft to fly at altitude and controlled the speed with my left hand. My eyes spotted F-35Bs, F-35Cs, Rafales and F/A-18s dart, crawl and cruise all around us in all sorts of formations. Something caught my eye just behind the giant mushroom cloud.

"Razor Three, I've got something behind the mushroom cloud." I quickly scanned my radar over the area but it was still too far out.

"Roger that Three, One is scanning." It was going well over the water but I'm not sure about going on land.

"Razor One, Ghost Eye Six-Three, we have visual contact bearing three one eight from my pos (Position). Declare and identify over." Hawkins requested, the four of us closing up the formation.

"Wait one, Razor." Ghost Eye replied.

"I've got a bad feeling about this." Jorge murmured as I flicked the master arm switch.

"All callsigns listen up, the aircraft Razor One has just identified fits the description of a new PAK FA T-50PU designed for long-range interception. Five of the jets are leading the formation! We are seeing a large force behind them inbound for the carriers off to coast. All callsigns vector in for support!" Ghost Eye quickly blurted out.

"Dragon One, rolling in." An F-22 Raptor darted from behind me, specks of light shining from the dark mushroom cloud.

"Ghost Eye Six-Three, we have missile launch on our aircraft! How the fuck –" The AWACS was cut off by a giant orange explosion blooming just to my left.

"All callsigns this is Dagger Four, midnight. I repeat midnight. Diverting all AWACS capabilities to nearby F-22 and F-35C fighters. Stand-by." The missiles just took out all of our AWACS birds in one go, most of our fighters were now engaged in jousting battles with the enemy.

"All callsigns, Dagger Four and Katana Six will now assume AWACS responsibility. The new PAK FA fighters were carrying AA-13 Arrow missiles designed to travel at Mach 6 and terminate AWACS birds from three hundred kilometers away. Sword Two, Four, Five and Six engage fighter groups bearing one two five, angels eighteen. Canard One, Two, Four and Six engage fighter-bomber groups bearing one three eight, angels thirty five..." The radio chatter filled our ears, the four of us increasing altitude with adjacent flights dedicated to OCA (Offensive Counter Air) Strikes.

"Bull Three, Razor flight, we're here to babysit you." I looked to my left seeing four F-22As streaking in with their wings brandishing the full non-stealthy combat armament with eight AIM-120D missiles in addition to the six already in their bay.

"Happy to see you Bull Three, we're on the way to a KC-135. Shouldn't be too long of a wait." The four F-22As banked left and quickly conformed to the formation, they were two thousand feet in front of us and acted as our forward guard.

"We won't be bored, got plenty of hostiles to engage if they come at us." Bull Three turned on their datalink to share data with the flight, multiple blips popping up on my air-to-air radar.

A flight of F-16Cs glided beside us, their drop tanks still full with fuel and their wings armed with AIM-120Ds. The flight leader started to slip in front of me. Two F-15E Strike Eagles flying SEAD sorties banked left. Their wings were fitted with air-to-ground AGM-65 Mavericks. Strips of aluminum exploded from the rear end of the aircraft. I looked back down to see streaks of white smoke trials rising to meet us. One missile just whizzed by my canopy, the projectile was so close I could read the labels. The F-16C banked right with chaff exploding out his rear end. His aircraft crossing over to the right engine nacelle.

"Tiger Six, mud lock, notching." The F-16C banked left to try and defeat the missile, he had his jammer on full-power.

"Tiger Six, Katana Six, we have mud launch, SA-12 far behind the frontlines. Bulls-eye zero three nine, one hundred fifty miles." The F-16C just crossed my canopy again, exploding into an orange fireball.

"Tiger Six-Two, Tiger Six-Two, my lead just got hit! No chute, I repeat no chute!" Smoke fogged up my canopy and obscured my view.

"Katana Six, airmen down, airmen down, send SAR bird to bulls-eye two eight one, fifty miles." Droplets of hydraulic fluid and oil splattered onto the canopy.

Radio chatter exploded into a frenzy as I inverted the aircraft and dived to clear myself from the smoke. I did not expect to rest to happen en-mass. Little suns bloomed within the empty space called the sky. Aircraft left and right exploded into an array of scrap metal and burning oil. I righted my jet and tired to find Hawkins. She was flying just higher than I was, her datalink feeding information as she jammed the radars with the jammer pods. My fuel gauge read more than enough fuel for the mission and but not back. Missile lock warnings and missile launch tones blared in my cockpit. I flicked on the jammer and dumped chaff trying to hide in the mess of aircraft. I looked back and saw a small little dummy decoy streaming away from my aircraft.

"Razor One, Razor Three, I've got mud spikes." I reported flying next to Hawkins.

"Razor Four, ditto here." Jorge grunted.

"Razor Flight, stack below me to reduce radar signature." Hawkins ordered.

"Two, stacking." I shifted the stick right and slid under Colbert's F-35C.

The giant exhaust ejecting heat just over my canopy. Ripples of heat danced dangerously close to the aircraft's twin tails while we cruised right through the battle. The F/A-18F shook madly from the combined turbulence and bad air streaming off of Colbert's aircraft. I looked up seeing Michelle just staring out into the chaos that was formerly the great nation of France. It seemed like time froze as she sat there in the cockpit, a tear dropping from her right eye. We lost many in the fight. The sound of whistling drew to to the left side of the cockpit. One large blur the size of my canopy zipped past me. One giant missile gliding slowly towards the sea got my attention. I pressed my helmet onto the glass to get a better view. One large exhaust, four short rear fins flying at a subsonic speed.

"Razor One-Three to George Bush, the Russians just launched long-range anti-ship missiles. I think it's the Kh-37 missile equipped for Standoff Attack Missiles." Missiles ripped by both sides of the jet and filled the air with white smoke.

"Roger that Razor One-Three, mission control copies your report." F-22s, F-15Cs, F-35As, Rafales and German Typhoons lined up in rows stared down Russian PAK FA and SU-35S fighters.

"George Bush to Zumwalt, give me a wall of lead and launch defensive missiles." I heard the confirmation beep from one of the MCFDs, the coalition fighters were locking on to their targets and was ready to fire.

"Zumwalt, firing one-five-five millimeter cannons and launching Standard Six missiles." We closed within the firing range of both air forces.

"Dagger Four, all callsigns open fire!" Sounds of fizzling filled my ears as the nearby aircraft's missiles motor ignited, launching them into the sky.

Volleys of lethal American AIM-120Ds and European MBDA Meteors soaring towards the enemy at Mach four. The aircraft banked and popped chaff. The F-35Cs advanced jamming pod and our own AN/AQL-184 Electronic Attack Pods protected us to a degree. I kept my hands steady. Missiles launch, missiles lock and all the other radar alarms blared in my headset. Fireballs bloomed in front of us. Looking through Colbert's F-35C's fuselage, friendly fighters and multi-role aircraft exploded into scrap metal. The F-22s flying forward guard bravely held their formation while popping off missiles to ward off the fighters daring to come close. On the enemy's side, three Mig-35s darted underneath us. Their blurred shape arching towards the sky above me. They were trying to get a lock on us.

"Razor Flight, vector to tanker fifty miles to the East. Bearing one nine five, angels thirty five." The Mig-35s screamed towards us, their fangs gleaming in my rearview mirror.

"Razor One-One copies. I see the Migs Flint, don't worry." Hawkins flashed her lights for a brief five seconds before banking out from the formation.

After Hawkins was far enough, Colbert too banked to follow her. I watched his F-35 slowly slip out from my field of view. Yanking the stick right, I felt my body jolt sideways with the jet slowly lining up with the twin F-35s. I lined up right behind and below Colbert's F-35 with Jorge joining me shortly. The Migs in the meanwhile were gone. Our forward guards flew into position, their bays closing with a few missiles left. I assumed they took care of the predators. The battle raged on to our left while we flew towards the border of France and Spain. Time flew by and so did my bladder and stomach. My stomach growled for food and my bladder begged to release its fluid. Shouldn't have had two cups of that hot chocolate. After two hours in the air, we were running on fumes on both external tanks and internal ones. The tanker was just a few miles away.

"Guys, I'm starting to run on fumes." The digital readout read five thousand pounds along with the FUEL warning flashing on my HUD.

"We're ten miles out from the tanker and the border. It'll be much safer there than France." I couldn't stand it any longer and opened the little cubicle containing the bottle.

"I got to go." I mumbled and emptied my bladder.

"Josh, that's gross." Michelle finally spoke after a long flight.

"I've got to go when I have to go." I said with a playful smile, she wasn't amused.

"Miki." She shook her head.

"I don't want to talk Josh." She shot back coldly.

"Razor One, Camel Six-Three, requesting permission to refuel." The tanker was a small speck out from my cockpit.

"Roger that Razor One, cleared to pre-contact position." The four of us slid out from the stack formation.

I flew just right of Hawkins, her wing tip lining up with mine. Jorge flew with Colbert as we split up to take the four drogues trailing behind. The closer to the tanker we got, the harder it became to control the shaking jet. A lot of bad air was being ejected right into the F/A-18's airframe. We flew two meters behind the drogue before getting the all clear. I extended the air refueling probe and slowly eased the aircraft into the basket. The small shuttlecock-like drogue was slowly swaying around from turbulence. I glanced left to see Hawkins already connected and receiving fuel. Colbert and Jorge was the same. A growl of frustration left my mouth as I pulled the throttle back slightly. The F/A-18 slipped backwards from the basket. I pushed the throttle up just slightly and creeped up on the floating drogue. The snout of the Hornet poised over the small opening. I held my breath. _Psss._ The drogue hissed with compressed air as the refueling probe was locked into place.

"All aircraft has contact, opening the taps." The fuel gauge started to slowly rise.

"This wind is messing with my chi." I grumbled fighting the stick for control of the aircraft.

"Just smooth it out Flint. You Marines are too rough with your vehicles." Hawkin's F-35C's elevators flap up and down slightly.

"Yeah, sure. Smooth it out. You're sitting in a next-gen two hundred million dollar jet while I'm sitting in a last-gen fifty-five million bucket." The external tanks were half full, the flying boom system used by the Air Force was much faster.

"I flew in it before, remember that. Just sip all the fuel you can. I have a feeling we won't be returning to the Bush." My stomach felt uneasy, the thought of not being able to go back to solid ground frightened me.

"Can it Hawkins, you'll jinx us with that kind of attitude." I tapped the MCFD to bring up the navigation map, three hundred miles away from the ship.

"Razor One-Three, topped up and ready to go." Michelle spoke from behind me as I nodded.

"Razor One-Four, we're full, thanks for the fuel." I slowly backed down the power and slid from the basket.

"Razor One-One, thanks for the fuel. We'll see you guys on the ground." The F/A-18 shook softly as we encountered bad air once again.

"Razor One-Two, thanks amigo, we'll treat you to a round of beers if we ever meet." I banked left to clear the tanker and headed towards Moldova.

"I don't think that's going to be a promise you'll keep Razor. We're Chairforce and you guys are squids. We're never going to meet." Hawkins was leading formation again, her F-35C flying four thousand feet in front of me.

"Anything can happen Camel." Sure anything could.


End file.
